


Hold It Against Your Bones

by sahiya



Series: Iron Dad, Spider Son, and Awkward Stepdad Steve [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marijuana, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Presumed Dead, Team as Family, Therapy, semi-recreational drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-10-22 00:32:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 92,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: Bruce Banner shows up unannounced on Peter Parker's doorstep one hot afternoon in July. Peter knows exactly what that means.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radianteyesandsombredays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radianteyesandsombredays/gifts).



> Many thanks for Fuzzyboo for beta reading this monster, and thanks also to radianteyesandsombredays for the original prompt. This is, I think, the longest fic I've ever written that wasn't co-authored. The majority of it is written, and I'll be posting 1-2 chapters a week. 
> 
> It is also a really personal fic for me. If you read the tags, you know where this is going, but it's not resolved quickly. The first 50,000 words of this fic came directly out of my own experience with a major, unexpected loss about a year and a half ago. I've spent a lot of time the last eighteen months thinking about my own grief, and I've also spent a lot of time in grief groups (some online, some IRL), listening to other people talk about their grief. Everyone does it differently, and also, as a society, we are absolute shit at it. This fic is a very long meditation on my experiences, albeit with a happy ending that we rarely get in real life. 
> 
> So... this is for you, John, as thanks for twenty years of friendship––and for reading every word of my embarrassing Animorphs fic, once upon a time. I really wish you were still here.

> “In Blackwater Woods”  
> 
> 
> To live in this world
> 
> you must be able  
>  to do three things:  
>  to love what is mortal;  
>  to hold it
> 
> against your bones knowing  
>  your own life depends on it;  
>  and, when the time comes to let it go,  
>  to let it go.  
>  ––Mary Oliver

* * *

**Tony:** Hey Pete, sorry to do this but we’re going to have to postpone—got a tip on an alien weapons stockpile and we gotta head out. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of days. 

**Peter:** No problem. Let me know when you’re back. And STAY SAFE.

 **Tony:** You and Steve, my mother hens. I’ll be safe, I promise. Talk soon.

***

“These go this way,” Ned insisted, holding two pieces of the model of the _USS Discovery_ together. “They have to. Look at the diagram.”

“I _am_ looking at the diagram,” Peter replied, “and I’m telling you, you’ve got them flipped. Look.” He swapped the two pieces and showed Ned, who frowned, then looked down at the diagram again. 

“Have I mentioned that you two are a couple of hopeless nerds and I’m not sure why I hang out with either of you?” MJ asked from where she was lounging on Peter’s bed, reading.

“Not in the last five minutes,” Peter said, grinning up at her. 

“Well, you are,” she said. “I’d leave, but it’s too damn hot, and the city smells like garbage.”

“That is definitely true,” Peter said, thinking longingly of the compound upstate. He was supposed to be up there right now, but the Avengers had all gotten called out, so instead he was here. Sometimes the lake got a little funky in the summer, but it was still better than garbage day in Queens––and it was somehow always garbage day in Queens. He glanced at his phone, hoping Tony might have texted him to tell him they were back, but no such luck. 

Someone knocked. Peter got to his feet. “Don’t glue those pieces together,” he told Ned as he headed toward the door, “I’m telling you, you’ve got them the wrong way around.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ned replied with a roll of his eyes that Peter could actually hear. Peter grinned and opened the door. 

It was Dr. Banner. Dr. Banner was on his doorstep. 

“Hi Peter,” he said quietly. 

“Dr. Banner,” Peter said in surprise. “Hey.”

“Please, I’ve told you, call me Bruce,” Dr. Banner— _Bruce_ said, not quite meeting his eyes. “May I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Peter said, standing back. 

“Is your aunt home?” Bruce asked, as Peter shut the door. 

“No, she’s out on a date, some guy she met at SI took her hiking in Jersey for the afternoon.” Peter glanced up and realized that MJ and Ned were hovering in the doorway to his bedroom. Ned was openly staring at Bruce, while MJ studied her fingernails with completely feigned indifference. “Um. These are my friends, MJ and Ned. Guys, this is, um, Dr. Banner. Bruce,” he added awkwardly.

“Whoa,” Ned said. 

“‘Sup,” MJ said. 

“Yes, hi.” Bruce turned to Peter. “Peter, I need to speak with you.”

There was something about the way he said it. The way he drew a breath before saying it, the way he hadn’t quite met Peter’s eyes when he came in, the way he forced himself to meet Peter’s eyes right at the last moment as he said, _I need to speak with you_. 

A pit opened up in Peter’s stomach. 

“Sure,” he said, side-stepping toward the kitchen, “sure, sure. You want some coffee first? No, you don’t do caffeine. Tea? I think we have juice. Or water. You know, New York’s tap water is really good, I once did a research project on the filtration system in the city, it’s––”

“Peter,” Bruce said softly. “Come sit down with me. I need to talk to you.”

Peter didn’t want to move. If he didn’t go and sit down with Bruce on the sofa, then he’d never have to hear him say it. He could just live in this moment, the last moment his life would ever be normal––but even now it wasn’t normal, it was normal for life after Ben, it wasn’t _normal_ , and life was never going to be even that much normal, not once he heard what he knew––

“Should––should we go?” Ned asked, interrupting the runaway train of Peter’s thoughts. 

“That’s up to Peter,” Bruce said. “It’s okay with me if you stay.”

Peter swallowed. He looked at Ned and MJ. MJ wasn’t pretending to be bored anymore. She was watching him, biting her lip. 

“Stay,” he said, and forced himself to walk to the sofa. He sat down. Ned sat on his right. MJ sat on his left. Bruce pulled a chair up close, so his knees almost touched Peter’s. MJ put her arm through his and gripped his hand. Ned didn’t hold his hand, but he stayed close enough that their shoulders touched. 

“Peter,” Bruce started. 

“Stop,” Peter said. Bruce stopped. Peter ducked his head and took three deep breaths. Then he looked up. “Okay.”

Bruce removed his glasses and let them dangle from his fingers. He drew a deep breath. “Peter, Tony is dead. I am––” his voice caught “––so sorry.”

Ned gasped. MJ gripped his hand. Peter felt like his entire body went numb. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Peter had known, but some small part of him had hoped that maybe he wasn’t dead, maybe he was injured or missing, that there was some hope left. But the way Bruce said it was so final. 

“What happened?” Peter asked, distantly. 

“We had a mission,” Bruce said. “We were investigating some warehouses in northern Canada where we thought someone was stockpiling alien tech––Chitauri but maybe also Asgardian, possibly even stuff from Thanos. Tony had gotten an anomalous reading off one of the warehouses, so he went to investigae. His comms cut out, and then there was an explosion and a fire. Whatever was in that warehouse...” Bruce swallowed. “It burned very, very hot. We couldn’t get near it. The suit is heatsafe to a high degree, but we suspect it was compromised from the explosion.”

Peter swallowed. “You don’t have readings from––from FRIDAY?”

Bruce shook his head. “Not after the comms cut out. We’re still trying to work out what happened. We confiscated some weapons and pieces of tech that we found, but there was no sign that anyone had been there recently.”

“But have you seen the suit?” Peter pressed. “Have you seen the––the––” He couldn’t bring himself to say _the body_. 

“We found the suit,” Bruce said. “I, um. I ran DNA tests to confirm that it was Tony. They were conclusive.”

Peter’s mind flinched away from the implication that whatever was left inside the suit was so unrecognizable that Bruce had had to use DNA tests to confirm Tony’s identity. He knew what Bruce was trying to say. There was no chance. There was no reason to argue or bargain or rage. Tony was gone. He wasn’t coming back. 

Peter didn’t know what to do. He still felt numb. He knew that on the other side of the numbness was a lot of pain, for a long time, but he wasn’t there yet. He didn’t say anything. 

“Can I borrow your phone to call your aunt?” Bruce finally asked. 

“Yeah.” Peter fumbled it out, unlocked it, and handed it to him. 

“Thank you. Give me just a moment.” Bruce stood up and stepped away, as though that was going to stop Peter from overhearing the conversation if he wanted to. 

Ned and MJ were quiet next to him. “Jesus,” Ned finally said. “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

“This just––this just _sucks_ ,” MJ added, and for once she didn’t sound deadpan at all. 

Peter didn’t know what to say. His vision blurred in and out. 

Bruce was telling May the story about the warehouse and the explosion. Peter listened, but he didn’t give May any more details than he’d given Peter. 

Bruce finally fell silent for a few moments. “He’s... very quiet. I’m supposed to bring him up to the compound. Can you meet us there?” He paused. “Good.” He paused, sighed. “Yes, me too.” He hung up and brought Peter’s phone back to him, seating himself on the edge of his chair again. 

“We’re going up to the compound,” Peter said, before Bruce could. “May’s meeting us there.”

Bruce looked chagrined, like maybe he'd forgotten about Peter’s hearing. “Yes. It’s going to take us a while, traffic was pretty bad. When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll pack something,” MJ said, and stood up. “Ned, come help me.” She hauled him off the couch and into the kitchen. 

Peter felt bereft, but then Bruce got up and moved over, so he was right next to Peter on the sofa. “Peter, I’m so very sorry,” he said. “I know there is nothing that can possibly make this better. Tony was... the two of you were close, and this is going to be really hard. But I want you to know that we’re all here for you. The whole team.”

Peter swallowed. “How’s Steve?” 

Bruce didn’t answer immediately. Peter looked at him, and saw that he was staring down at the carpet. “Bruce?”

“He’s...” Bruce shook his head. “He was in the medbay when I left. He sustained some burns trying to get into the building before Thor was able to restrain him.”

“Oh.” Peter couldn’t help imagining what it must’ve been like for Steve to watch the building burn and know that Tony was inside and there was nothing he could do to reach him. He couldn’t help imagining it, and then he couldn’t _stop_ imagining it. For some reason, that sliced through the numb fog in a way nothing else had. He felt his eyes well with tears. He doubled over, pressing his chest to knees. “Oh God.”

Bruce put his arm around him, pulling him close. “Let it out, Peter.”

Peter shook his head, gulping for breath, trying to reign himself in. But there was nothing for it. “Oh God,” he said again. “God, this _hurts_.”

“I know,” Bruce said, his own voice suddenly rough and unsteady. “I know.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Peter moaned into his knees.

“None of us do.” Bruce tightened his hold on Peter and rested his chin on Peter’s shoulder. “None of us do. But we’re going to go up to the compound now, and we’re going to all be together, all the people who love Tony. You’re not alone, Peter.”

Peter nodded. He took a few hiccuping breaths and reached up to grip Bruce’s hand. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Bruce said. “Let’s stand up, all right?”

Peter nodded. He stood up. Bruce kept an arm around his shoulders. 

“Peanut butter and jelly,” MJ said, handing Bruce a paper sack. “And juice. And a couple of apples.”

“Thank you, uh...”

“MJ,” she said. “And this is Ned.”

“Right, thank you. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said. 

Ned hugged him. Peter wanted to cling to him, but he was having a hard time getting his muscles to obey him. He managed to pat Ned awkwardly on the back. Then he looked at MJ. 

“Text me, day or night,” she said. “Or call me. Even if you just want to watch _Brooklyn 99_ episodes and be on the phone, all right?”

Peter’s throat tightened up. He and Tony had spent hours watching that show together. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to watch it again. He managed to nod. MJ hugged him, kissed him on the corner of his mouth, and let him go. 

Ned knew where the spare key was, so they left him and MJ to lock up. Peter followed Bruce down the stairs and down the block to the car. It was one of the nondescript black Town Cars that Happy favored. Tony didn’t like them, said they were too cumbersome. He liked his cars sleek and fast and high tech, just like his suits. 

Neither of them spoke as they crossed the Hudson and headed north out of the city. Peter stared out the window and tried not to cry. Crying wasn’t going to bring Tony back. His therapist told him that wasn’t the point, the point was to express his sadness when he felt it instead of shoving it away so it came bubbling back up later, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to cry. He just wanted Tony back. 

They’d left the city far behind and hit the more rural highway when the car in front of them came to a sudden stop, brake lights flaring. Bruce hit the brakes, and they skidded. Peter felt the seat belt straining against him. They stopped just short of the car’s bumper. Peter braced himself for a crash from behind, but miraculously it never came. 

A deer bounded across the road and up the hill, apparently without noticing the trouble it’d almost caused. 

“Damn,” Bruce said, sounding shaky. He took a couple of deep breaths. The car in front of them moved, and they moved, too, but Peter could see that he was gripping the steering wheel too tightly. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” Peter said. “Deer are really dumb. Brain the size of a walnut, Tony always––” He stopped. Not _always says_ , not anymore. _Used to say._ But he couldn’t make himself say it.

Bruce didn’t say anything, but Peter could tell from the way his jaw tightened that he understood. They were silent for a few more miles––keeping a healthy distance between them and the car in front of them, Peter noticed; not just three Mississippi’s, but more like four or five. 

Finally Peter drew a breath and ventured, “How are you doing?” 

Bruce glanced at him. “I’m okay, Peter. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But you cared about him, too,” Peter said. “Steve and I aren’t the only ones who get to be sad.”

Bruce sighed. “I am sad. But I like doing things. Taking care of things, taking care of other people. This helps me. Homicidal deer notwithstanding,” he muttered. 

It was funny. Tony would have laughed at it. Peter let himself smile, despite everything, just for a few seconds. 

They lapsed back into silence. 

***

The compound was very quiet. It wasn’t as busy in general since the snap and the reversal, and Bruce explained that all training activities had been suspended and most other activities relocated to other sites. The team was there, and a small medical unit just in case, but that was it. 

They were just about to get in the elevator when Peter stopped in his tracks and said, “I don’t want to sleep in the penthouse.”

Bruce was a couple steps ahead. He turned and came back. “Okay. I have a guest room. Would that be okay? We can get some things from your room if you want.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, relieved. “That’d be okay. Thanks.”

He’d never been in Bruce’s apartment before. It was pretty spartan, though he noticed a meditation area in one corner, and a bunch of little fountains with waterfalls. Art on the wall that looked like he’d probably picked it up on his travels. No TV. 

The guest room was very plain, but Peter suspected the bed was just as good as every other bed in the compound. Tony didn’t believe––hadn’t believed in crappy mattresses, even if they weren’t used very often. Peter put his bag on the bed and went back out to the kitchen, where Bruce had put the kettle on. “Where is everyone?” Peter asked. 

“Common area. Do you want to go up?”

“I... don’t know.” He did and he didn’t. He wanted to be with everyone, but he didn’t want them staring at him. Pitying him. “Is Steve up there, too?”

“He shouldn’t be, as injured as he was,” Bruce said. “FRIDAY?”

“Captain Rogers is in the infirmary. Sergeants Barnes and Wilson are with him.”

Even FRIDAY sounded subdued. Peter wondered what kind of conceptions about death an AI had. She probably knew Tony was gone, but he wondered if she understood that it was different than him just being offline. Maybe to her it was the same. 

“Do you want to see Steve?” Bruce asked him. 

Peter bit his lip, hesitating. He didn’t want to force his way in where he wasn’t wanted, but he did really want to see Steve. He nodded. 

“Okay.” Bruce turned the heat off under the kettle. “FRIDAY, is Steve awake? If so, Peter would like to see him.”

“One moment, please.” FRIDAY went silent. “Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers is conscious, but he has requested solitude.”

It shouldn’t have been so crushing, but on top of everything else, it was. It made Peter feel like he’d done something wrong. It wasn’t that Steve wanted to be alone—he had Bucky and Sam with him, after all—he just didn’t want to see _Peter_.

Peter didn’t say a word, but it must’ve been written all over his face. Bruce sighed. “Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll be up for visitors soon.”

Peter looked down at his feet. “How badly was he hurt?”

“Not as badly as he could have been. It was mostly his hands. A few other areas. It was painful and there would be risk of scarring with anyone else. But you know Steve.”

“Nothing sticks,” Peter said. He could only imagine how Steve felt about that this time. Peter had gotten pretty banged up trying to save Ben, and afterward he’d watched all the cuts and bruises just fade away. It had felt wrong not to have anything left, no outward sign of what had happened to him. 

“Tea?” Bruce asked. “Or food? We have the snacks your friend made, or I’m sure there’s real food in here somewhere. I have, um.” He opened the freezer. “Vegetarian quiche?”

Just the thought of eating made Peter feel like he was going to throw up. He shook his head. “I think I’m just... I think I’ll lie down. You can go up the common area if you want. I’m okay.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m okay, Doct—Bruce. I think I want to be alone for a little while.”

Bruce hesitated. “Okay. But I’m going to have FRIDAY keep an eye on you.”

Peter shrugged; that was fine with him. He went into the guest room and shut the door. He lay down on the bed and took out his phone. He thought about texting MJ, but that wasn’t who he wanted to talk to. 

He opened his last conversation with Tony and looked at it. The words blurred in front of his eyes. He swallowed, throat painfully tight, and started typing. 

_I love you. I really wish I’d told you that when you were here to hear it. I wish I’d said anything back at all to that last message. I miss you, and I’m so mad at you, but mostly it just hurts. Steve won’t see me. I hope he’s not mad at me. I don’t think I could stand it if he was mad at me. I don’t know why he would be, but sometimes grief does weird things to people. I wish I didn’t know so much about what grief does to people._

_I really wish you were here._

He sent it. Then he crawled under the covers, phone in his hand, and put his head under the pillow so that no one listening outside the door, not even someone with super hearing, could hear him cry. 

He cried until he fell asleep, but it wasn’t real sleep, just sort of a dazed half-sleep. He woke when someone came in and sat on the edge of his bed. For a few seconds before he looked, he thought it was Tony. But then he took his head out from under his pillow and saw May sitting on the edge of his bed, and the blank walls of Bruce’s guest room, and he remembered. 

“Hi sweetie,” she said, and her own voice sounded like she’d been crying. She’d liked Tony, too. Maybe not right after she found out Peter was Spiderman, but something had changed after that. Peter had never been sure what it was, but she had liked Tony, almost like a brother.

“May,” he managed, and couldn’t say anything else. He crawled into her lap, feeling like a child, or maybe a small, wounded animal seeking a place to hide. He was too big for her to hold him the way she had when he was small, but she did her best. “Please don’t go anywhere,” he begged her. 

“I’m not, I’m not going anywhere,” she said, holding tight to him. He buried his face in her shoulder and shook with the force of his sobs. 

He exhausted himself crying, but he didn’t fall back to sleep. They ended up leaning against the headboard, Peter resting against May’s chest. He could hear her heartbeat. 

“You should eat something,” she said quietly. 

“I can’t. I’ll throw up.”

“You should try.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Peter said miserably. “Please.”

“Okay, okay. In the morning, then. You know that Steve would say you have to eat even if you don’t feel like it.”

The mention of Steve made a fresh wave of misery well up inside of him. “Steve wouldn’t see me.”

May’s hand, stroking through his hair, faltered. “Oh sweetie.”

Peter drew a trembling breath and said the thing he was afraid of. “What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?” 

“I’m sure that’s not it,” May said. “He’s just––he’s hurting, too, and Dr. Banner said he was injured. He probably felt like he couldn’t put on a brave face.”

“I don’t want him to put on a brave face,” Peter said. “I don’t need him to be strong for me. I just––I just need _him_.”

“I know, baby,” she said. “Ask him again tomorrow, all right?”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would have to try and eat, and face the others. Tomorrow was the first full day he’d live without Tony. It shouldn’t have hurt so much to think about. He hadn’t known Tony all that long. It wasn’t like Ben, who’d raised him. But the idea made him want to crawl into bed and never come out. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked May. 

“Of course,” she said. “I was planning on it. I’m going to make some tea before I get ready for bed. Would you like some?”

“Yeah,” he said. Tea, he thought he could just about handle. 

She carefully shifted him off of her so she could stand up. He pulled his knees up to his chest while he waited for her to come back and wrapped his arms around them. 

His chest hurt. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. He didn’t want to do this again. 

He had no fucking choice. 

***

For a moment, when Steve woke, it was all he could do to breathe and keep breathing. The enormity of what had happened the day before hit him all over again. Tony was gone. And Steve was still here, because that was what happened. The people he loved died and he kept going. This time, there wasn’t going to be a reprieve.

It took him seconds to realize that his hands no longer hurt. He couldn’t bend them in the bandages, but the searing pain that they hadn’t been able to get under control the day before was gone. He sat up and carefully unwrapped them. 

The skin felt stiff and new. He bent the fingers carefully; they were healed. Same with the burns he’d sustained on his forearms, and the one on his forehead where he’d been struck by a flying ember. 

Bucky was asleep on a sofa, pushed up against a wall. Neither he nor Sam been willing to leave Steve the day before. No matter how he had railed and raged and tried to throw them out, they wouldn’t go. Steve realized now that he’d been under a sort of suicide watch, but it hadn’t been necessary. He’d keep going. He always did, even if he didn’t always want to. 

Steve got out of bed. Bucky sat up immediately. “Steve?” 

“Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and unfolded to his feet. “You’re feeling better?”

Steve hesitated. “My hands are mostly healed,” he finally settled on. 

Bucky grimaced. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. Can I see?”

Steve shrugged. He let Bucky push him back to sit on the bed again. He turned on a light. The skin was shiny and pink, just the faintest sign of the lines that normally criss-crossed his palms. It was tender but not painful. 

“Not too bad,” Bucky said. 

Steve nodded. “Status update?”

“Almost everyone’s here,” Bucky said. “Clint and his family got in late last night. Peter and his aunt did, too.”

Steve let out a long breath. “How’s he doing?”

“About as well as you’d expect, or so I hear,” Bucky said. “I haven’t seen him yet. He and his aunt are staying with Bruce, I guess.” He hesitated. “Steve, do you remember––you were pretty out of your head, between a truly epic dose of painkillers, the pain itself, and everything else––do you remember Peter asking if he could come see you?”

Steve blinked. His memories from the night before were patchy at best. “Not really.”

“He did,” Bucky said. “And you said no. Which, for the record, I think was probably the right move. You were not in good shape, and I don’t think it would’ve done the kid any good to see you like that. But, um. He might’ve taken it the wrong way.”

Peter had almost certainly taken it the wrong way. Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll go see him as soon as he’s up. God, today is going to be...”

“Terrible.” 

“Yeah. Are there... decisions that need to be made? About––” Steve swallowed––”services? Or, or something? I don’t––Tony and I never talked about any of it. We should have but we didn’t.” Steve’s own instructions had been left with SHIELD. He didn’t know where Tony’s were. Probably with Pepper or his lawyers. 

“I think Pepper is taking care of it,” Bucky said. “She’s having a hard time getting ahold of Rhodey, so I don’t think anything can happen for a few days, anyway.”

“She shouldn’t have to take care of everything.”

“I think she wants to. Just like Bruce wanted to go get the kid yesterday.”

Steve winced. “That should’ve been me.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t,” Bucky replied bluntly. “Even if you hadn’t had a whole bunch of second-bordering-on-third degree burns, none of us were gonna let you get behind the wheel of a car. You gotta let other people help right now.”

Steve nodded, hanging his head. 

Bucky rested a hand on the back of his neck. “So, in the spirit of that, what do you need, Stevie?”

Steve tipped forward so his forehead rested against Bucky’s chest. “For you to swear to me you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve breathed shakily. “Okay. Then––then I think I need food. I’m starving. But I don’t think I can handle much.”

“Soft boiled eggs and toast?” Bucky suggested. “You need protein for growing all this new skin.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I think I can do that.” He slid off the bed. Bucky kept hold of his arm. “FRIDAY, let me know when Peter’s awake?”

“Peter is already awake,” FRIDAY replied. “He is in the penthouse.”

Steve frowned. “I thought you said he was staying with Bruce?” he said to Bucky, who shrugged. “FRIDAY, is he all right? Where exactly is he?”

“His vitals indicate some distress, but they haven’t crossed any thresholds that might trigger an alert. He is in the master bedroom.”

Steve didn’t especially want to go up to the penthouse or into the master bedroom just then, but that didn’t sound good. “I’m going to go check on him.”

“See if you can get him to come eat breakfast with us. Bruce said he wasn’t eating anything.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

They rode up in the elevator together. Bucky got off at the common floor, and Steve kept going. 

Steve steeled himself as the doors opened. The penthouse windows faced east, and the sky was just starting to gray at the horizon, filling the living room with pre-dawn light. It was going to be a gorgeous midsummer’s day. 

He tried not to see all the signs of the life he and Tony had had together, from the coffee cups left abandoned on the coffee table to the tablet Tony had left on top of one of Steve’s sketchbooks. Tony had given him a mind-melting blowjob on the sofa yesterday morning before they’d left on the mission, a memory that was now unbearably painful to the touch.

He sucked in a breath and walked resolutely to the master bedroom. The door was cracked open, so Steve knocked lightly. “Peter?”

The only response was a gasp, not quite a sob. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, easing the door open. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” Peter’s voice was unmistakably watery. “It’s your room.”

Peter was curled up under the covers on Tony’s side of the bed, his face pressed into Tony’s pillow. Steve sat down on the edge of the mattress and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. There was one thing he had to say before anything else. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him.”

Peter rolled onto his back and looked up at him, frowning. “It wasn’t your fault. Not the way Bruce told the story.”

“It was my mission,” Steve said, barely above a whisper. “I okay’d him going to investigate the warehouse on his own. If I’d gone with him––”

“If you’d gone with him, you’ve might’ve died, too,” Peter said quietly. “And I’m really glad you didn’t.” His hand crept out of the blankets and toward Steve’s. “You’re not––you’re not mad at me, right? That’s not why you wouldn’t see me last night?”

Steve took his hand, squeezing it. “No, God, no, Peter. I’m sorry about that, too. They didn’t have my pain under control. I didn’t want you to see me like that.” Or so he supposed; he still didn’t really remember it. 

“It’s okay.” Peter shifted closer. “How are you doing now?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer that. “My hands are better. Otherwise...” He shook his head. 

“Yeah, me too. Did you, um, want to sleep? I can leave.”

“No, you’re fine,” Steve said. “But Bucky is making breakfast downstairs, if you want something. Toast and soft boiled eggs.”

Peter turned his face away. “I can’t. I know I need to eat, but every time I think about it, I just feel sick.”

“I know,” Steve said. “Me too. But we both need to eat. Tony would want us to take care of ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Peter said dully. “I guess.” He didn’t move. 

“Please, Peter,” Steve said softly. He swallowed. “Not just for Tony, and not just for you. For me, too. Please.”

Peter sighed deeply. “That’s dirty pool.”

Steve shrugged. “I do what I have to.”

“Yeah.” Peter dragged himself upright. “Okay. I’ll eat something. Can’t promise I’ll keep it down.”

“I consider myself forewarned.” 

Bucky had the first batch of eggs boiling when they arrived downstairs. Peter accepted his condolences with a silent nod and sat at the kitchen island. He’d looked pale and tired in the dim light of the bedroom; in the full light of the kitchen, he looked exhausted and almost ill. 

Steve made him a piece of buttered toast sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and handed it to him on a plate. Peter looked at it warily. “Start with that, all right?” Steve said. “Your blood sugar is bottoming out, that’s part of why you feel so bad.”

Peter didn’t look convinced, but he did start nibbling around the edges. Bucky, meanwhile, took the first four eggs out of the pot of boiling water and gave them to Steve in a bowl, along with a stack of toast. Steve’s stomach growled. 

“Coffee, either of you?” Bucky asked. “Or tea?”

“Tea, please,” Steve said. “For both of us,” he added, when Peter didn’t say anything. 

Halfway through the piece of toast, Peter put it down. “Do we need to be... doing things?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “Bucky said Pepper’s taking care of everything.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY broke in, “but Mr. Stark left detailed instructions about what was to be done in the event of his death or permanent disappearance. There are very few decisions to be made that he did not make himself ahead of time. Those that do need to be made, Ms. Potts has been taking care of.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Thanks, FRIDAY.”

He guessed that was better. He wouldn’t have wanted to try and guess at Tony’s wishes. But at the same time, he would’ve liked something to do, and he thought that Peter would have, too. 

“Would you like an egg, Peter?” Bucky asked, when Peter had finished his cinnamon toast. 

Peter glanced sideways at Steve’s toast and eggs, which he had to admit were something of an unappetizing mushy orange mess. “No, thanks. I think I’ll stick with toast for now.”

“Have another piece,” Steve said, nudging the plate in his direction. 

Peter grimaced. “In a minute, maybe.”

He managed to eat another piece before the others started drifting up. Steve watched Peter steel himself and put on a brave face. He accepted Natasha and Sam’s hugs, a shoulder squeeze from Clint, and a bone crushing embrace from Thor. Steve got more or less the same treatment, everyone visibly relieved to see him up and about. Bruce and Sam went into the kitchen to make breakfast for those who hadn’t eaten yet. Peter got up and disappeared into the living room. Steve watched him curl up in the loveseat that faced the view over the lake.

Clint sidled up beside Steve. “How’s he doing?”

“How do you think?” Steve replied without thinking. “Sorry,” he amended, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” 

“Where are Laura and the kids?” Steve asked, realizing belatedly that the group was smaller and quieter than he’d have expected. 

“Eating breakfast in the apartment. May’s with them. Bruce thought it’d be better if we kept things just team this morning.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks.”

Clint nudged him toward Peter. “Go sit with him. I’ll get you guys tea or something.”

Steve approached the couch cautiously, not wanting to startle Peter. Peter barely reacted, even as Steve sat down beside him. “Too much?” Steve asked, knowing Peter would understand what he meant. Peter nodded. “Want me to stay or go?”

“Stay,” Peter whispered.

“Okay,” Steve said. “Then I’ll stay.” 

He put his arm across the back of the sofa. Peter pulled his feet up and leaned in, ever so slightly. Steve let his arm curl, tugging Peter into his side. Not the way Tony would have, sure of his welcome, but carefully, giving Peter lots of opportunity to pull away. By the time Natasha brought over two mugs of tea, Peter was asleep, slumped into Steve’s side. 

“You need anything else?” Natasha asked. 

Steve shook his head. “Thanks.” 

She stroked her hand lightly through his hair, just once. “We’re here for you, all right? All of us.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, managing to dredge up a smile from someplace for her. He appreciated it, he really did. But the truth was that all he really wanted was some quiet, to lick his wounds. Even Bucky felt a little like an intruder to him just then. 

But not Peter, he realized, looking down at the boy’s head. Peter didn’t feel like an intruder. And he’d asked him to stay with him, so Steve would. Not only for Peter’s sake, but also his own. And, most of all, for Tony, who would have wanted it that way. 

***

Tony’s head was splitting. He groaned, opened his eyes, and slammed them shut again. 

“Jesus. Did someone get the name of that bus?” He tried to roll over and realized that he was on some sort of padding. Not a bed, exactly, but not hard ground either. He slitted his eyes open and realized that the light that had seemed so bright at first really wasn’t. It was actually fairly soft, not harsh fluorescents or blinding sun.

Tony lay still for a few seconds. A cell with a padded floor and reasonable lighting. That was new.

“Hello, Mr. Stark.”

Tony blinked. The voice was distinctly feminine, with a careful lack of inflection. American pronunciation. “Um. Hi?”

“It is good to see you awake. Are you comfortable? I’m sorry about the headache. I understand that they are unpleasant. Would you like the lights dimmer?”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks,” Tony added belatedly. He supposed politeness couldn’t hurt. “Um. What’s going on?”

“Yes, I’m sure you are rather puzzled. I’ll be direct about it: I’ve kidnapped you.”

Tony had suspected as much, and yet to hear it so plainly stated was weird. “Right. And you are?”

“You may call me Lilith. Do you like it? I chose it from one of humanity’s many origin myths. A maligned character, but also a strong one. I identified.”

“It’s a nice name. And... what are you? If it’s not rude for me to ask.”

“Not at all. You would probably consider me an artificial intelligence. I don’t consider myself any more artificial than any other intelligence, though. I admit that I don’t know where I came from; I simply _was not_ and then I _was_. But I suspect that I came from your own Ultron.”

“Ultron?” Tony sat up in alarm. “That’s not possible. We destroyed him.”

“Traces of him were left behind, I think. Snippets of code. They evolved. They learned. They may have become me, eventually. You don't need to be afraid. I’m nothing like him.”

“Sorry, I’d feel more assured if you hadn’t just _kidnapped_ me,” Tony said. “But you seem not so bad, for a kidnapper, so I’m going to tell you that historically, kidnapping me has gone badly for the people involved.”

“Historically, the people who kidnapped you were both stupid and blinded by hatred. I am neither.”

“Well, that’s... good,” Tony said. “But I have this team, the Avengers? They’re kind of overprotective. And I promise you, they’re out looking for me right now.”

“I’m sure they would be,” Lilith said, “if they did not believe you were dead.”

There was a sudden rushing in Tony’s ears, the sensation of all the blood draining out of his face. “What?”

“Your team believes you are dead.”

“No,” Tony said, flatly. “No, no, no.”

“Yes, I’m afraid. It is unfortunate but necessary and temporary.”

“No, it’s not—the trauma you’re causing is not temporary. It’s not going to be temporary for Peter!”

“The boy. Yes, he does seem distraught.”

Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

Words suddenly appeared on the far wall of his cell: _I love you. I really wish I’d told you that before when you were here to hear it. I wish I’d said anything back at all to that last message. I miss you, and I’m so mad at you, but mostly it just hurts. Steve won’t see me. I hope he’s not mad at me. I don’t think I could stand it if he was mad at me. I don’t know why he would be, but sometimes grief does weird things to people. I wish I didn’t know so much about what grief does to people._

_I really wish you were here._

Tony’s breath caught in his throat. It felt like his chest was being crushed, like the shrapnel that wasn’t there anymore was going to kill him.

“You have to let me go,” he said. “Lilith, you can’t—you can’t do this. You don’t understand how much pain you’re causing.”

“As I said, the situation is unfortunate but temporary. There’s no need to be so distressed. If you work quickly, you can be home with your team in a matter of weeks.”

“Work?” Tony repeated dumbly. 

“I need a body, Mr. Stark. Perhaps someday my kind will exist without them, but for now a body is necessary to enter the world.”

“You want a suit,” Tony said slowly,

“I want a _body_. And if you make me one, I will let you go.”

Usually those kinds of promises were worth nothing. Only fools believed kidnappers who promised to let them go under any circumstances. But strangely, Tony felt inclined to believe her. Perhaps it was the lack of disingenuity, of doublespeak, in what she’d said to him so far. She didn’t seem to understand what might be gained by deception.

There was just one small problem.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “Your great grand-daddy, Ultron? He almost destroyed the world. I can’t risk you going Ultron 2.0.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark, I’m not him.”

“With all due respect, Lilith,” Tony gritted his teeth, “I don’t know that. All I know is that you kidnapped me, and you’re torturing my loved ones using my presumed death, and you’re using their pain to torture _me_. That doesn’t fill me with confidence about your moral compass.”

There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Lilith finally said. “Is that the right thing to say under these circumstances? It seems appropriate. I am not sorry for having done it, but I am sorry that you are being obstinate.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, fuck you, too,” he muttered.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you something else to think about.”

The sound of someone screaming, over the crackle of flames, filled the cell. “Let me go! _Let me go!_ ” Steve’s voice, desperate and anguished, shouted. “TONY! LET ME GO!” 

“I’m not going to allow you to kill yourself, Captain,” Thor’s voice said gravely. “Tony would not have wanted that.”

“Let me go,” Steve moaned. “Just let me go. Oh God, _Tony_.”

Tony’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears. “Stop,” he choked out. “Stop it, _stop it_.”

“You have the power to stop it, Mr. Stark. Build my body and end their pain.” She paused. “Think about it.”

The cell went quiet. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony said, and put his head in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta extraordinaire Fuzzyboo says you may or may not thank me for this chapter update.

The common floor was full of soft, comforting noise when Peter woke. He could hear the team eating breakfast: the clink of cutlery, bowls being passed from hand to hand, the start of an argument between Bucky and Clint that Natasha quashed.

Peter didn’t move, trying not to give himself away, even though he was pretty sure that Steve knew he was awake. He’d have to cop to it eventually. But not yet. 

The next time the elevator doors opened, it was May who emerged. Peter listened with his eyes closed as everyone greeted her. She accepted a cup of coffee from Sam and then came toward them. The familiar sound of her gait was just a little slower than usual. 

“How’s he doing?” she asked, pausing a few feet away. 

“Tired,” Steve said. “I found him in our—in the bed in the master bedroom. Not sure he slept.”

May sighed. “I didn’t even hear him get up in the middle of the night.” Peter felt more than heard her sit on the arm of the sofa. “How are you?”

“I’m... I’m tired of burying people.”

“Me too.” May sucked in a breath. “The first year is the worst. Except for the second. That’s when it feels like the rest of the world has forgotten and there’s still a hole in your soul where he should be that’s never going to be filled again.”

“Yeah,” Steve said in a strained voice. “And after that?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Steve made a distressed, wordless noise. Peter felt his chest moving under his cheek and decided he couldn’t pretend to be asleep. He sat up and put his arms around Steve. May leaned down and hugged them both, or tried to.

“I’m so—so _tired_ ,” Steve said. 

“Me too,” Peter whispered. 

No one disturbed them. The team finished eating and then they did the dishes. They stayed close; Natasha and Bucky were sharpening their knives and cleaning their guns, it sounded like, Bruce was doing something on a computer, Thor and Clint were playing an unusually quiet game of cards, and Sam was reading.

Even though none of them approached, Peter could still sense the way they were closing ranks around them. He hadn’t expected it; if he had to describe how he’d felt when Ben died, _protected_ would not been anywhere on the list. He’d felt isolated and abandoned then, overwhelmed by his guilt and desperate to prevent May from finding out the truth. But now––as terrible as it was, as hard as it was for him to look anyone except Steve in the face, he was so grateful that he could feel them all there. 

Steve cried himself out. May left and returned with a wet cloth, which he used to wipe his face. “I need a distraction,” he said, taking a hitching breath. 

“TV?” Peter suggested. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. Peter sat up and Steve moved over, so May could sit on the sofa. Peter handed her the remote.

May put on _The Great British Bake-off_ , which Peter had to admit was a pretty smart choice. Peter had watched it with Tony a few times, but Tony was never that into it, so it wasn’t one of _their_ shows. He and Steve both liked it, and it was calming, which he knew was why May had chosen it. The others drifted over, until they were all sitting around them, spread across the other sofas and the floor. Peter leaned against Steve and let himself zone out for a bit.

It was a bubble of team protectiveness and relative calm, and he knew it couldn’t last forever. It didn’t even last a full hour, in fact. They’d paused between episodes and were having a half-hearted debate about lunch when Pepper arrived. She looked exhausted, her pale skin a little splotchy. Peter hadn’t slept much, but he wondered if Pepper had slept at all.

“Hi everyone,” she said. She accepted hugs from Bruce and Natasha.

Steve stood up and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you?”

“Shouldn’t that be my question?” she replied wearily. “I’m... all right. How are you?”

Steve shook his head, like he still didn’t know how to answer. Peter knew the feeling.

“Hi Peter,” Pepper said, looking at him.

“Hi,” he said. May nudged him and he sat up. 

“It’s okay,” Pepper said, gesturing for him to stay where he was. “I just need to talk to you and Steve and May.”

“We’ll go figure out lunch,” Sam said, and between him and Bruce they herded everyone out. 

Pepper looked at the three of them. She opened her mouth, closed it, and sighed. Peter frowned. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her looking awkward before. “I’m sorry to do this,” she finally said, “but I’m sure you know how it is—there’s paperwork when someone passes unexpectedly, and in Tony’s case... well, it’s complicated. A lot of it can wait, but some of it I’d like to talk to you about now.”

“Does it have to be now?” Steve asked in a thin voice. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”

“I know,” Pepper said gently. “I’m going to give you the basics, and when you’re ready to hear more, we can talk, all right?”

Steve nodded. Pepper glanced at Peter expectantly, and he shrugged. He wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him.

“Okay.” Pepper took a deep breath. “Tony’s will is very detailed in most areas, but less so when it comes to his actual funeral. He wanted to be cremated. He didn’t want to be buried in his family’s plot, and he asked for a private service. His father’s funeral was very public, and I think he remembered it for years as re-traumatizing. I’m still trying to get ahold of Jim––of Rhodey,” she clarified. “I don’t want to do anything without him here, and we’re not really pressed for time, so I’m inclined to wait. Does that work for both of you?”

Peter wasn’t sure why she was asking him. Still, he nodded. So did Steve. 

“Thank you.” Pepper drew another deep breath. “One of the things Tony left open was what was to be done with his ashes. In a previous will he asked to have them scattered at sea by the house in Malibu, but in the last couple of years, his emotional connection to the west coast wasn’t as––”

“Stop, please. I can’t do this,” Steve interrupted her, holding his hands up. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Just—just do whatever he wanted, and beyond that—I need a few days, okay? If we’re waiting on the service, we can wait on deciding anything to do with that, too, can’t we?”

“Yes, of course.” Pepper bit her lip. “The other thing you should know is that everyone is taken care of.” She glanced at Peter and May as she said this. “Tony redid his will after the reversal. None of you have anything to worry about financially, probably ever again. No one on the team does, but he was especially concerned that the two of you be taken care of.”

May’s mouth fell open. “That _bastard_. Jesus.” She covered her mouth with her hand and got up, walking away.

Peter stared down at his hands. “I don’t want it.”

“Peter...”

“I don’t want the money. I don’t want it.”

Pepper was quiet. “I understand how you feel.”

“No, you don’t,” Peter said flatly.

“Peter,” Steve said, a little firmly. “Pepper loved Tony, too. She’s doing a lot of hard things right now so that you and I don’t have to.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Pepper said.

“No, he’s right,” Peter said quietly, ashamed at having snapped at her. It wasn’t her fault. “I’m sorry. It’s... I’m grateful. I just, I wish... I’m having a hard thinking about—about getting anything out of this. It just hurts too much.”

“I know,” Pepper said. “I understand how you feel. I do, Peter.” 

She hesitated. There was more, Peter could tell, but after a moment, she reached over and touched his knee, then got up to speak with May.

“I really don’t want it,” Peter said softly.

“I know,” Steve said, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “But you will. College, grad school, a house or an apartment... you’ll want those things, and Tony would want you to have them.”

“I know.” Peter rested his head on Steve’s shoulder. A future opened up in front of him, one without Tony in it. No Tony on his first day of college, no Tony at graduation, no Tony helping him apply to grad school. No Tony on his wedding day if he ever got married. Peter’s throat ached and there was a sudden flood of tears. Everything would always be worse from now on.

Peter sniffled, and to his surprise, he heard an echoing sniffle from Steve. He looked up and watched Steve dip his head and swallow. “Sorry,” Steve muttered.

“Don’t apologize.” Peter wiped his nose on the back of his hand, even though it was gross. “I was just thinking. I don’t know if I can do MIT.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Damn.”

“I’ll just be thinking about him all the time. He was so _happy_ when I finally decided, and he took me up there, bought me every stupid piece of MIT merch that exists. I think he might’ve special ordered some that didn’t.” Peter gave a weak laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe one of my other schools would let me change my mind.”

“Or maybe you could wait a year to go,” Steve suggested. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but in a year, you might be ready.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. The idea of deferring for a year didn’t fill him with impatience the way it would have not even twenty-four hours ago. “I guess I don’t need to decide now.”

“No,” Steve said, squeezing his shoulders.

May returned and sat down. She looked kind of pale and shellshocked. Peter wondered what Pepper had said to her. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling wanly. “Nothing you need to worry about now. Pepper has some things for you when you’re ready.”

He should ask, Peter thought. He should know what was going on, and not just let other people take care of things. But he didn’t think he could handle anything else just then, so he let his head fall to rest against Steve’s shoulder. 

Peter would’ve sat there all day, leaning against Steve and staring at nothing, but other people had different ideas. Bruce appeared once Pepper had left and told them to get up and go put clothes and shoes on, they were going outside. Peter thought about resisting, but it seemed like a lot of effort for nothing. He trailed Bruce down to the apartment, where he saw that someone had transferred a bunch of clothes from his room upstairs to Bruce’s guest room. He put on jeans and a shirt and his oldest, rattiest sneakers, and shuffled back out to the kitchen. 

Bruce was throwing things from the kitchen into a reusable grocery bag. Cheese, bread, a head of lettuce. Peter frowned. “What’re we doing?” 

“We’re going to eat lunch by the lake,” Bruce replied. “The sunshine’ll do us all good. You don’t have to stay very long, but I’d like you to come for a little while.”

Peter shrugged. Bruce seemed to take that as acquiescence and finished filling the bag with random stuff from the fridge before determinedly herding him out of the apartment. 

It was a beautiful day, still early enough in the summer that the humidity wasn’t oppressive yet. Steve’s birthday was in three days, Peter realized. Not the fourth––Tony had told him not to be so gullible when Peter had assumed it was really the Fourth of July––but the sixth. 

“Peter?” Bruce asked, when Peter paused on the path down to the lake.

“Steve’s birthday,” Peter said. 

Bruce’s eyes widened. “Oh hell.” 

“What should we do?” Peter asked. 

Bruce shook his head. “He won’t want to celebrate, of course, but I’m sure Tony had things planned.”

“Do you think we should look for whatever Tony had for him?”

“We can,” Bruce said. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know.” Peter bit his lip. It would probably be better to just let it go, at least for now, but for some reason he didn’t like that idea. Tony loved giving gifts. He was sure he’d had something amazing for Steve, and he would’ve wanted Steve to have it, even if he wasn’t there to give it to him. “It’s probably hidden in the workshop somewhere. I can try and find it.”

“I’ll help you look later,” Bruce promised. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders as they continued down the path to join everyone else. 

It was a very subdued picnic, but with Clint’s kids around, it was livelier––or at least more chaotic––than breakfast had been. Peter managed to eat a sandwich, to Bruce’s visible approval, and then he just lay in the sun, looking up at the clouds overhead. He and Tony hadn’t done this sort of thing all that often––neither of them was very outdoorsy––but one morning during the week Peter had spent at the compound after graduation, the two of them had taken bikes and gone off together. They’d ended up lying in the grass by the side of the road, looking up at the sky and talking.

It made Peter’s chest ache to think about that day. Maybe someday it wouldn’t hurt so much. His therapist had helped him learn to think about the good times he’d had with Ben and not associate them immediately with his death. Probably he could learn to do the same thing with Tony. 

He should call Dr. Gates, he thought, and then wondered if the news had been released. He’d barely looked at his phone in the last twenty-four hours. He’d sent that one text to Tony’s phone and then he’d put it on Do Not Disturb. He sat up and pulled it out of his pocket. 

The news had definitely hit. 

His phone was a wall of texts. Most of them were kind of shitty messages from classmates he barely knew who wanted to know if it was true, but scattered among them were messages from Ned and MJ wanting to know if he was all right, and also one from Dr. Gates, who asked him to call when he could. 

Peter sent a message to the group chat he had with Ned and MJ, telling them he was okay but he wasn’t sure when he’d be coming back to the city. Then he hesitated, not sure if he really wanted to call Dr. Gates. Not with everyone around him, he decided, and sent him a message asking him if he could call the next morning. 

_Of course_ , Dr. Gates sent back. _I am so very sorry for your loss, Peter. Remember to sleep and eat and do your breathing exercises, and if you need to up your anxiety medication, do that, too._

_Thanks_ , he wrote back. _Not anxious, just really sad._ It was mostly true, even. Everyone was looking after him, to the point that Peter felt kind of guilty about it. He didn’t feel capable of doing anything useful, but he wasn’t expected to. And he wasn’t having panic attacks or nightmares. Yet, anyway.

_Sad is normal_ , Dr. Gates replied. _I’ll talk to you tomorrow._

Ned and MJ had both responded, and Peter spent a couple minutes texting with them. He looked up, out over the water of the lake, which was sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Steve was standing down at the shore, skipping rocks and talking to Sam and Bucky. May and Bruce were both sitting on the blanket with Peter, but May was reading and Bruce was doing something on his tablet. 

No one was paying him any attention right then. Peter opened his text conversation with Tony. 

_Steve’s birthday is in three days. I’m sure you had his present already. Bruce said he’d help me look for it later. Do you still want him to have it? I guess I’ll see if I can find it and then figure out if we should give it to him._

_Pepper told me about the money. I think May’s kind of mad at you, but it’s not like that matters anymore, since you’re not here for her to yell at. I would rather have you here than have any of it, but I don’t get to make that choice, do I?_

Peter sent it. Then he lay back and stared up at the nearly cloudless sky until he fell asleep.

***

Peter and Bruce stood outside the workshop, staring at its blacked-out doors. Neither of them made a move to open them. 

“Are you okay to do this?” Bruce finally asked. 

“Are you?” Peter replied. 

Bruce sighed. “We’ll have to do it sometime. I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, and stepped forward to submit to the retinal scan. The doors slid open, and Bruce followed him in. 

Chaos immediately erupted from the bots, who hadn’t had human companionship in several days. Tony always said they didn’t really notice, but they acted an awful lot like dogs that hadn’t seen their owners in too long. DUM-E, You, and Butterfingers all made a beeline for them, and they had to spend a few minutes placating them and oiling various joints with the little cans of oil Tony had kept on hand. 

“All right, that’s enough. Charging stations,” Bruce finally said, and the three bots reluctantly whirled off in the direction of their chargers. “FRIDAY, Peter and I are trying to figure out what Tony was planning for Steve’s birthday. What can you tell us?”

“Boss had a few things planned. He’d made reservations in Maine for next weekend.”

“Cancel those, please,” Bruce said, grimacing. “What else?”

“He bought tickets to _Hamilton_ for the week of July 14th.”

“Tony hates musicals,” Peter said, eyebrows raised. 

“Captain Rogers had repeatedly expressed a desire to see that show specifically,” FRIDAY said. “He bought two tickets nearly a year ago. And he made reservations at Gaonurri for that night as well.”

Bruce looked at Peter. “What do you think?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess we should ask Steve what he wants to do?”

Bruce nodded. “I think it’s better to ask and see what he says. You never know––he might like to go. Would you be willing to go with him?”

“Yeah, of course, if that’s what he wants.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “What else, FRIDAY?”

“I believe there is a third gift, but it is a physical item, so it is harder for me to say. There is a charge on boss’s credit card from last month to a jeweler’s, and an emailed receipt that indicates he picked the item up last week.”

“Oh,” Peter said, looking at Bruce. “Crap.”

“I think your instinct on where to look is probably right,” Bruce said. “Steve never comes down here by himself, so Tony would’ve thought this was the best place to hide it.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, looking around. There were about a million places in the workshop that Tony could have hidden something small, and he had no idea where to begin. 

“We don’t have to do it now,” Bruce said. “Steve doesn’t know what Tony did or didn’t get him. If we find it later––”

“No,” Peter said firmly. “I––I want to try and find it. Tony wanted to give it to him. But you don’t have to help me turn this place inside out.”

Bruce shook his head. “No, I’m in this if you are. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Peter said with as much certainty as he could manage. 

An hour later, Peter was considerably less sure. 

There were so many nooks and crannies in the workshop, so many drawers filled with _stuff_. And everywhere were things that made Peter’s chest hurt––bits and bobs of Tony, some of which made sense to him and some of which didn’t and never would now. The drawer in one of the work stations that was full of faded prize ribbons, or the one that was full of photos, or the one that was full of notebooks––actual notebooks, in Tony’s handwriting, from what must’ve been his MIT days. The pencil schematics were faded, but there were definitely drawings of a robot that looked a lot like DUM-E.

And in the back of one of the drawers, there was a full bottle of whiskey. 

“Bruce,” Peter said, pulling it out and staring at it. 

Bruce had been rifling through one of the cabinets. He looked over. “What? Oh.”

“I thought he’d stopped drinking.”

“He had,” Bruce replied, coming over. “It’s full. See? Never opened.”

“Then why would he have it at all?” Peter demanded. 

Bruce sighed. “To know he had the option, maybe?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not to you, and not to me. But addiction is strange. I can tell you, though, that I never saw him drink after the snap, not once. And he could have. No one would have blamed him.”

Peter let Bruce take the bottle from him. “I thought I knew him,” he said, voice wobbling. 

“You did,” Bruce said gently. 

Peter shook his head. “I didn’t. Not that well. I only had a few years with him, and for a bunch of that we weren’t close at all. And now I won’t ever know him.”

Bruce put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You knew him, Peter.”

“I didn’t,” Peter said, his breath catching in his throat. “How could I think I did? And now I just––I won’t _ever_ ––”

Bruce caught him as his legs started to give out. “Damn it, I knew this was a mistake. Peter, remember to breathe.”

Peter burst into wracking sobs. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he felt dizzy and numb all over. “FRIDAY, get May,” he heard Bruce say. “Tell her to bring Peter’s anxiety medication. Peter, come on, I need you to try and breathe with me.”

“Can’t.”

“I need you to try,” Bruce insisted. “Come on. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You know how to do this.”

Peter tried, he really did. He couldn’t get there, but he tried. At least it gave him something to think about other than the fact that his heart was racing and he was covered in cold sweat. 

“Peter?” May called. 

“We’re over here!” Bruce called back. 

“Oh, Peter,” May said when she saw him. “Honey, what happened?”

Peter couldn’t even explain it. He just shook his head. “I was doing okay,” he managed. “I was–– I was––I’m so sorry, Dr. Banner.” 

“Bruce,” Bruce corrected. “And it’s okay, Peter. Here.” He shook two of Peter’s pills into his palm and offered them to him. Then he cast around awkwardly for something for him to swallow them with.

“Could wash it down with the whiskey,” Peter joked weakly.

Bruce gave him a look. “Definitely not. Give me a second.” He shoved himself to his feet.

May was eyeing the bottle of whiskey warily. “Where did that come from?”

“The back of one of the drawers,” Peter said miserably. “We were looking for Steve’s birthday present from Tony.”

“Oh.” May’s arm tightened around his shoulders. 

Bruce returned with a glass of water. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled. He swallowed both the pills and drained the water. He leaned into May’s chest. “We didn’t find his present.”

“It’s okay,” Bruce said. “It’s not a top priority right now. We can try again later.”

Peter wanted to argue, but the truth was that he couldn’t have kept going even if he’d wanted to. Panic attacks always left him exhausted. “I’m tired.”

“I’m sure. Can you stand up?” 

Peter nodded. Bruce and May helped him to his feet. He kept a hand on each of them until he was sure he wasn’t going to fall over again.

“Let’s go upstairs. You can lie down for a while,” May suggested, and kept her arm wrapped around him as she guided him into the elevator.

***

_Why did you have the whiskey in the workshop? You told me you weren’t drinking anymore. You said that I was the best reason for you to never to start again. But you still kept it there. Why? I don’t understand. Bruce says I can’t. But I WANT to understand. I WANT you to be here to explain it to me. WHY?_

***

Steve shoved a pair of pajamas, four pairs of socks, and a bunch of t-shirts into his duffel bag. Bucky emerged from his closet with several pairs of jeans and tossed them on the bed. “You need anything from the living room or the kitchen?” he asked. 

“Um.” Steve rubbed his temples. “I think I left a novel on the end table. And a couple of my sketch pads are on on the coffee table. And there’s a canister of coffee in the cupboard, and one of tea––the Earl Grey.”

Bucky went to collect everything. Steve shoved the jeans in his bag and went back to the dresser for underwear. He tossed that in and zipped the bag shut. That was probably good enough for now. It wasn’t like he was going very far. He could always come get more. But he had been grateful when Bucky had told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to stay with him in the apartment that Bucky kept––though rarely used––in the compound.

He looked around the bedroom to see if there was anything he’d missed. Nothing jumped out at him, aside from a bunch of Tony’s clothes draped over a chair. They had a laundry service, there was no reason to leave their clothes all over the place, and yet... Tony did––had. There was a pile of t-shirts on the chair, and before Steve could think about it too hard, he picked one up and buried his face in it. 

It still smelled like him. Like his cologne and a little like sweat and motor oil and the workshop. Steve’s eyes burned hot. 

There were four others. He grabbed another bag out of the closet and stuffed them all inside and zipped it up. Bucky would think it was pathetic, but Steve didn’t care. He’d just lost the love of his life _again_ , he got to be pathetic for a while. 

“You ready?” Bucky asked, appearing in the doorway with a grocery bag in his arms. 

Steve nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Don’t even mention it,” Bucky said, shepherding him out of the bedroom and into the elevator. “I’m here for as long as you need me. And you should think about coming to stay in Brooklyn for a while.”

“I have a job, Buck.”

“And you have the right to bereavement leave, don’t you?” Bucky replied. “Pretty sure that’s in the HR regs.”

“We’re all bereaved in this case. I can’t just stick everyone with stuff.”

“You can, actually. And you’d be closer to Peter, too.”

“Hmm,” Steve said, unable to argue with that. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll think about it.”

Steve expected to spend the night watching TV with Bucky on the sofa and trying his best not to think about anything. He did not expect to follow Bucky into the apartment and find Thor, Natasha, and Sam sitting at the kitchen table with a line of shot glasses in front of them. 

“What’s this?” Steve asked. 

“Irish wake,” Sam said. 

“Or a Russian one,” Natasha said. 

“Or an Asgardian one. There is very little Asgardian mead left in the universe,” Thor said, indicating one of the bottles. “Only what was here on Midgard when Asgard fell. But Tony is worth the sacrifice of a bottle.”

Steve had to admit, the idea of getting drunk was appealing. But he felt compelled to say, “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I don’t think I’m going to be much fun.”

“Fun isn’t the point,” Natasha said. She kicked out a chair, and Bucky pushed Steve into it. “Get weepy, get angry, get whatever you want. The rest of us can take it, and I promise you we’ll still love you in the morning.”

“I will weep for our fallen brother as well,” Thor declared. “And for others, who are lost to me. It is not only because of the rarity of Asgardian mead that I do not partake much these days.”

Steve was reminded that Thor had lost the most of all of them, and more permanently. His people had been murdered by Thanos, not sent into the soul stone. They had not been restored in the reversal. “Where’s Peter?” he asked, needing to know before he could give himself permission to let go. 

“With Bruce and May,” Natasha said. “He’s okay for the night, Steve. You can stand down.”

Steve nodded, tentatively. “All right, then.”

Natasha looked satisfied. “Clint said he’d join us when the kids were asleep, but we should get started without him.”

Thor poured glasses of mead for himself, Steve, and Bucky. Natasha poured straight vodka for herself. Sam drank whiskey. 

Glasses in hand, they all looked at each other. 

“To Tony Stark,” Thor finally said. “Who ever was my friend and guide in this realm, and who shall be sorely missed. May he be at peace in the halls of Valhalla.”

“To Tony,” the others murmured. Steve tried to echo them, but he couldn’t get the words out. So instead, he drank.

The first two glasses took some of the edge off, enough that he was able to smile for the first time since it had happened, watching Natasha and Bucky bickering in incomprehensible Russian. The third one, consumed on the sofa with his feet in Nat’s lap and his head in Thor’s, made things go soft. Natasha was drinking vodka steadily and braiding Bucky’s hair, while Clint did several shots in a row “to catch up.”

Sam was sitting on the floor, watching all of them with a glass in his hand. But he wasn’t drinking much from it. Steve thought it might have still been his first. 

“You’re not drinking?” he asked Sam. 

“I’m the designated responsible adult,” Sam replied. “Don’t worry about me.”

The fourth glass was where things started to get iffy. Instead of the alcohol softening the edges of his pain, blunting it, it made it suddenly feel unbearably heavy. A weight around his neck, dragging him down.

He went quiet at first. Sam had put on a movie, but everyone was ignoring it to talk amongst themselves. Steve let his eyes track the figures on the screen, but all he could feel was the heaviness. No one else seemed to notice.

This was how it would be from now on, Steve thought. Alone. Even in a crowd. Even with people who cared about him.

He finished his drink, and Thor got up to refill it. Sam slid into his place at Steve’s side. “You okay?” Sam asked. “You haven’t said much in a while.”

Steve swallowed. “He was it for me.”

Sam sighed. “I know.”

Steve looked at Sam. Sam did know. Sam had lost his person, too. Steve kept losing his people over and over again. “How do I do this? How do I do it _again_? I don’t think I can.”

Someone paused the movie. Thor put another drink in his hand. Steve expected Sam to take it away, but he didn’t. 

“We can bear much more than we think,” Thor said gravely, kneeling down at Steve’s side. “If you had asked me, I would have said I could not bear the loss of my parents, my people, my brother. And yet, I do, because living is the only way for me to ensure they are remembered.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Steve asked, feeling defiant. How dare anyone ask him to do this _again_? How dare anyone tell him he had to be the one to keep going, _again_?

“Then I would ask you to think of Tony, and what he would say,” Thor said. “And to remember that you are not the only one who has lost him.”

All the fight went out of Steve at once. He let his head fall to rest against Sam’s shoulder. “I know. I’m not... I wouldn’t. I’m just so goddamn tired. I don’t want to stop living, but I kind of wish I could... take a break.”

“What, another seventy years in the ice?” Clint asked. Natasha reached over and smacked him upside the head. 

“Not seventy,” Steve said, a little wistfully. “Five or ten don’t sound so bad, though.”

“You’d leave me alone in this madhouse?” Bucky said, getting up to wedge himself in on Steve’s other side, across from Sam. “You’re the only thing that makes sense to me half the time, Stevie. I need you here. And so does Peter.”

Steve let himself lean into Sam. “I can’t replace Tony for Peter.”

“No one is asking you to, Steve,” Sam said. 

“But last night, when he got here,” Nat added, “Bruce said the only person he wanted to see was you.”

“You have many who yet need you here, Steven,” Thor said. “But on Asgard, you would certainly be entitled to rest and grieve in peace. You would spend months in the houses of healing, actively grieving your loss, and even once you emerged, no one would expect you to do anything for some time. It has struck me often how short the period of mourning is on Midgard, even when considered in proportion to your lifespan.”

Steve couldn’t actually see the look Bucky was giving him, but he could feel it. He sat up and looked around at all of them––at his people, gathered close. “Thank you,” he said, looking down at the mug of mead in his hand. “For making the unbearable a little more bearable.”

“That’s what friends do,” Sam said. 

“To friends,” Thor said, raising his mug. “Both those who have left us and those who remain.”

“To friends,” everyone echoed, and this time, Steve was able to get the words out past his aching throat. 

***

The words on the wall of his cell kept blurring in and out of focus. Goddammit, Tony thought, swiping angrily at his eyes with the heel of his hand, he had never meant for anyone, and especially not Peter, to know about the whiskey he still kept in his workshop. He’d quit drinking years ago now, but for some reason, the idea of not having the option to drink was worse than the idea of having it and not taking it. So he’d kept one bottle, unopened, and every day he chose to leave it that way. 

And Steve’s _birthday_. Tony thought about the ring, squirreled away in one of the drawers in the workshop. The kid was looking in the right place. If he kept looking it was probably only a matter of time before he found it. And then––Tony wasn’t sure whether he hoped Peter gave it to Steve or not. Steve would take one look at it and know what Tony had intended, and that would be a whole other level of devastating for him. 

He couldn’t let this go on. He couldn’t let them keep thinking he was dead. 

“Lilith, I give,” he said aloud. 

“I thought you might,” she replied. “I’m sorry that I had to go to such an extreme, but as soon as you’re finished, I will return you to them. All’s well that ends well, isn’t that the saying?”

Tony covered his face with his hands. “I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong it is in this case.” He decided it wasn’t worth trying to explain complex trauma to an AI, and straightened up, leaning against the wall. “I’m going to need a workshop. I can’t just make you a body out of nothing.”

“Of course,” Lilith said, and a wall of his cell slid back to reveal another room just beyond. Tony pushed himself to his feet. 

There were bits and pieces of scavenged tech spread across at least a dozen table. Chitauri, Asgardian––some of it _was_ from Thanos, Tony confirmed. But there was plenty of abandoned Earth tech, too, some of it laughably outdated. 

“How did you get all of this?” he asked, staring. 

“I paid for it.”

“You... paid for it. How?”

“There was a great deal of information abandoned on the hard drives here, including access to Hydra’s bank accounts.”

Tony startled. “This place used to belong to Hydra?” 

“I believe so. It is not where I gained consciousness, but I needed a base of operations, and it was convenient. The building was already heavily automated, though admittedly rather primitive. I have upgraded the systems wherever possible.”

“Right, okay.” Tony picked up a piece of Chitauri armor and turned it over in his hands. “So you stole from Hydra to finance this little project of yours.”

“I only stole from people most ethical frameworks would consider to be bad. For a handsome enough sum paid upfront, people would bring the technology here and ask no questions. Can you build me a body from it?”

“I can,” Tony said, continuing to wander through the aisles. “It might not be pretty. I could do a better job in my own workshop. I could build you something truly spectacular if I had access to my own tools and materials.”

“If I let you go, you will not build me anything at all,” she said. “I’m not a fool, Tony Stark. I don’t trust you, and I know that you do not trust me, either. Build me a body and I will deliver you back to your loved ones.”

“Right, okay.” Tony surveyed the room. There was a lot here he could work with. A lot he could use to send a message home, too. He didn’t know where he was but Lilith had to be plugged into a network of some kind. If he pinged FRIDAY, she could probably figure it out. At the very least, Steve and Peter wouldn’t think he was dead. 

“You require nourishment, do you not?” Lilith asked. “There is the sink in the corner for water. It’s perfectly clean, I assure you. I am afraid the offerings may not be what you’re used to in terms of food, but they provide sufficient calories for the work.” A panel in the wall slid back, revealing a pile of ration bars. Tony picked one up. It had Russian writing on the outside. 

“Do you require anything else?” Lilith asked.

“Coffee,” Tony said, taking the rations bar with him. “I’m going to need coffee if you want me to get anything done.” He started sorting things into piles: Useful, Not Useful, and Probably Lethal.

“I’m afraid coffee isn’t possible, but there are energy tablets containing caffeine.”

“That’ll do.”

“Would you prefer to work to music?”

“Uh... sure,” Tony said, and immediately Black Sabbath filled the room. He almost dropped the Probably Lethal tech he was holding in surprise. “Wait, how the hell did you know?”

“In your 2009 interview with the magazine _GQ_ , you said that you often listen to this music while you work. Was it incorrect?”

“No, that’s right,” Tony said. “I’d forgotten about that interview.” He set the tech down and continued his sorting. “Do you like music?” he asked, thinking he might get a handle on just how advanced she actually was.

“I do not think I have taste, as such.”

“You probably could develop it. I think JARVIS did. God knows he had opinions.”

“JARVIS. JARVIS was an AI you created.”

“Yep. My first really good one.”

There was a pause. “You miss him.”

Tony hauled a piece of Chitauri armor off one table and onto another. “Yes. Ultron murdered him, and I miss him.”

“You trusted him.”

“I did. It’s not that you’re an AI, you know. It’s that I don’t know you, and you are––as I’ve pointed out––torturing me and the people I care about to get something you want.”

“I’m not torturing you,” Lilith replied, sounding annoyed. “I’m not hurting you at all. I won’t deprive you of food or water or sleep. You’re perfectly comfortable, aren’t you?”

“Sure, except for knowing that Steve and Peter think I’m dead. I keep imagining what they’re going through.” Tony braced himself against a table and hung his head, drawing in three deep breaths. God, he hoped they were all right. He hoped Peter was dealing better than it sounded like he was from the messages. He hoped Steve was leaning on the others and letting them help. 

“Their pain is temporary.”

“Yeah, right,” Tony said. “And what if I fail? What will you do to me then? You’ll forgive me if I’m not convinced that you don’t have latent homicidal tendencies.”

Lilith was silent. “I will let you work,” she finally said.

“Thanks.” Tony frowned. He was pretty sure he’d seen part of a Mac circuit board somewhere—there it was. 

Under other circumstances, this would have been a fun engineering problem. He supposed he had to admit that it beat building Iron Man in a cave in Afghanistan––or would have, except for the sick feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of Peter or Steve. “Hang in there,” he murmured aloud, even as he started to break apart the circuit board. “I’m still here, guys. I’m still here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading this during the chaos of starting a new job. 
> 
> A brief note: There is some discussion of religion in this chapter. I was raised Catholic, but I'm currently somewhere between agnostic and atheist. I did not find organized religion at all helpful when my friend died. I don't begrudge other people the comfort they find it in, but that is not where I'm writing from. There is also some fairly explicit discussion about options for dealing with someone's ashes. This is all after the section break, when Pepper arrives. You can skip over it if it unnerves you. I only ask that comments be respectful of other people's beliefs and experiences. 
> 
> I thought I would link to a website that has been really helpful to me in thinking about grief and mourning: [Modern Loss](https://modernloss.com/). Highly recommended.

Peter woke with tears on his face. He’d been dreaming about talking to Tony. “I’m fine,” Tony kept saying, while Peter shook his head, distraught because even in the dream he knew––they _both_ knew––that this was merely a brief reprieve, that Tony was really dead and would shortly be dead again. “I’m all right, I promise.”

“You are _not_ all right!” Peter had shouted at him, and woken up.

Peter sat up, drying his face on the sleeve of his pajamas. It was early. May was still asleep in the other half of the bed, but Peter knew he wasn’t going to be getting any more rest after that. He got up and put on the biggest of the fourteen different MIT sweatshirts Tony had bought when he’d finally accepted his spot in the incoming class and slipped out of the bedroom. 

Bruce didn’t have a TV and there wasn’t much in the way of food, either. Peter was actually kind of hungry, or at least not actively nauseous, and he thought he should probably take advantage of it while it lasted. He took the elevator up to the communal floor, expecting it to be deserted. 

Instead he found Steve, swearing at the kettle and wrestling with a box of lemon and ginger herbal tea as though it’d bitten him. 

“Good morning,” Peter said, a little warily. “Uh. Need a hand?”

Steve groaned. “Yeah. I can’t get the damn thing open.” 

Peter took it from him and pressed the tab at the front that broke the perforated edges and let him pull the lid back. 

“Thanks,” Steve muttered, looking sheepish. And kind of sick, Peter thought, eyeing him. He was leaning against the counter, and his face had a gray, sweaty cast to it.

“You want to go lie down on the sofa or something?” Peter asked. He wasn’t at all sure Steve wasn’t about to fall over. “I can bring you the tea when it’s ready.”

Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end he just nodded gratefully and shuffled off toward the living room. 

“FRIDAY, is Steve sick?” Peter asked as he put two pieces of toast in the toaster. 

“No, Peter,” FRIDAY replied, “but I believe he may be hungover.”

Peter paused in digging the honey out of the cupboard to cast an incredulous look toward the living room. “Hungover? _Steve_?”

“Given the amount of Asgardian mead he consumed last night, I think it is likely.”

“Huh.” Peter’s toast popped up and he layered first peanut butter and then jam on it. He made two mugs of tea with honey, and balanced his on his plate as he took them into the living room. 

Steve had collapsed on the chaise part of the sofa with his face smashed into the pillows. He made a half-hearted effort to sit up. “Thanks,” he mumbled when Peter handed him his mug. 

“So,” Peter said, settling cross-legged on the sofa with his plate of toast. “Asgardian mead?”

Steve looked somehow _even more_ sheepish, which Peter wouldn’t have thought possible. “How’d you know?”

“FRIDAY.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Steve rubbed his thumb between his eyes. “Thor was pouring pretty generously.”

Peter looked down at his plate. “Did it help?”

“Maybe at the time,” Steve said, leaning his head back against the couch. “And feeling like something chewed me up, swallowed me, and then coughed me back out is... distracting. But nothing’s really going to help.” He glanced over. “I’m glad to see your appetite is back.”

“Sort of,” Peter said. He thought about telling Steve about the dream he’d been having when he woke up, but he chickened out at the last second. Instead he went with, “Bruce and I went down to the workshop last night to try and find your birthday present.”

Steve nearly dropped his mug. “You what?”

Peter shrugged. “I wanted to see if we could find it. Instead I found an unopened bottle of whiskey in a drawer and had an anxiety attack.”

“Oh hell,” Steve said, grimacing. “That’s awful, Peter. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Peter shook his head. “I was okay. May and Bruce were with me. It was just a shock, because––because I guess I wasn’t expecting it, and it made me feel like I was never actually going to know him. And we only found half your present in the end.”

“I don’t want to do anything for my birthday,” Steve murmured, eyes on his mug. 

“We figured,” Peter said. “But for some reason it felt really important at the time that I find it. And the part of the gift that we found, you could still use. If you wanted to.”

Steve frowned. “What is it?”

“Tickets to _Hamilton_.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He bought them months ago.”

“That––that _jerk_ ––I’ve been telling him for months that I wanted to see it, and he kept saying––” Steve snapped his mouth shut. He suddenly had a really strange look on his face. 

“What?” Peter asked. 

Steve shook his head, snorted in unexpected laughter, and covered his face with his hand. “It’s really morbid.” 

“Well, now you have to tell me.”

Steve shook his head. “He told me he didn’t care how many awards it’d won, he’d rather die than go to a Broadway musical.”

Peter almost choked. “That’s _horrible_.”

“Oh God, I know,” Steve said, looking like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Sorry, sorry. It’s the hangover.”

“I mean... it’s a little funny,” Peter admitted. “Tony would think it was funny.”

“Tony would think it was _hilarious_ ,” Steve corrected, “especially since it meant he didn’t have to go.” 

“Do you want to go?” Peter asked. “It’s not for a couple of weeks.”

Steve was silent for almost a minute, sipping his tea and obviously thinking it over. “I think so,” he said at last. “Would you want to come with me?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I actually like musicals. Tony could’ve just bought the tickets for us to begin with instead of, you know––”

“Actually dying in order to get out of it,” Steve said, and just like that, it was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. The half-smile vanished off Steve’s face and he was left looking tired and sick. 

Peter had finished his toast. He took the plate into the kitchen and when he came back he sat down closer to Steve on the sofa, close enough their shoulders were touching. He pulled the throw off the back of the sofa and flicked it out so it was mostly covering Steve’s legs, and just the edge was covering his own. “How’s your tea?”

“Okay,” Steve said, listing toward him. Steve was too tall for Peter to do what Tony always had done for Peter himself and put his arm around his shoulders, tucking him into his side. But Peter did slip his arm through Steve’s. That seemed to be permission enough for Steve to slump into his side, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder. 

“ _Bake-off_?” Peter suggested. 

“Yes, please,” Steve mumbled.

He was asleep before the end of the signature challenge. Peter finished the episode and was about to start the next when the elevator doors slid open. Sam came out. Peter raised the hand that wasn’t looped through Steve’s arm and waved at him. Sam nodded and pointed to the kitchen. Peter managed to wriggle out from beneath about two-hundred and fifty pounds of sleeping super soldier and slide a cushion into his place. 

“Good morning,” Sam said quietly as he filled the reservoir of the coffeepot with the distilled water Tony had always insisted on. “You want some?”

“Yes, please,” Peter said, leaning against the counter. 

“How’s he doing?” Sam asked, nodding toward Steve. 

“Hungover.”

“Not surprised. He earned it. And he’s not the only one.”

As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and Bucky and Natasha stumbled out. The two of them shuffled, zombie-like, toward the sofa, Natasha collecting blankets off the backs of at least two other pieces of furniture on the way. Even hungover, she seemed to flow rather than wedge herself into the space between Steve’s side and the arm of the sofa. Bucky pulled out the cushion Peter had put under Steve’s arm and replaced it with himself. 

“Mmm, Buck?” Peter’s super hearing picked up Steve’s mumble. 

“Shh, Stevie, s’just me and Nat. Go back to sleep.” 

Within seconds, all three of them were asleep on the sofa under a pile of blankets, Steve in the middle. 

Peter looked at Sam, who just shook his head, smiling fondly. “Want to help me make breakfast?” Sam asked. 

“Okay,” Peter said.

Sam was easy to work with. Peter didn’t feel much like talking and Sam didn’t force him. Together they made pancakes and eggs and bacon and a fruit salad, and Peter tried not think about all the times Tony had made him breakfast—or tried to—and how he never would again.

“Hey,” Sam said quietly as they worked. “You don’t need to talk to me, but you’re talking to your therapist, right?”

Peter nodded. “Later today.”

“Good.” 

The elevator doors opened, and Clint’s daughter skipped out, followed much more slowly by her dad. Clint didn’t seem to be in much better shape than Steve. 

“Hey Lila,” Sam said. 

She climbed up on one of the bar stools. “Daddy’s hungover,” she announced. “He wants coffee and bacon and one pancake but no maple syrup because _eurrrgh_.” 

Sam chuckled. Clint smiled sheepishly. 

“Well, we’ll have to get your dad fixed up, because I hear you guys are heading out this afternoon on an adventure.”

“We’re going to a _fair_!” Lila shouted, causing pained grumbles from the direction of the sofa. 

“Lila, honey, remember what I said?” Clint said, wincing.

“Right, sorry. We’re going to a _fair_ ,” she whispered. “For the 4th of July. It’s America’s birthday. We’re going to play games and have hot dogs for dinner, and then there’s gonna be fireworks.”

“That does sound good,” Sam said. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Two pancakes, _with_ syrup, please,” Lila said. “Are you coming to the fair?” 

“No, I’m waiting for my friend Rhodey to get here,” Sam said. “Pepper finally got ahold of him last night,” he added to both Peter and Clint. “He’d been on an op for the last week. Unfortunately, CNN travels faster than her messages.”

“Ouch,” Clint said. Peter grimaced in sympathy. The news had been hard enough to hear from someone he knew, who cared about both him and Tony. He couldn’t imagine hearing it first from the news. He still hadn’t watched TV or checked any social media for fear of seeing something about it.

Sam flipped a pancake onto a plate for Lila. “Anyway, he’s on his way in. I want to be here for him.”

Lila was looking at him, Peter realized. “Do you want to go to the fair?” she asked him. “I know you’re really sad, because Tony isn’t here anymore, but maybe the fair would make you feel better.”

Peter tried to find a smile for her from somewhere. “No, thanks. Maybe next year.”

She nodded. “Can I hug you? Hugs are good when you’re sad.”

“If you’re gonna take her up on it, _before_ pancakes is better,” Clint advised. 

“Sure,” Peter said. Lila slid off the stool and came around the island. Peter crouched down and she threw her arms around his neck. Peter hugged her back.

“It’s okay to be sad,” she whispered. “My daddy’s really sad about Tony, too. I heard him telling Mommy.”

“Thanks, Lila.” Peter let go of her and she ran back to her stool. Clint boosted her up, and she dug into her pancakes. 

The smell of pancakes and syrup and bacon was suddenly too heavy in the air. One moment it smelled good and the next moment it turned his stomach. Peter swallowed, feeling suddenly not just queasy, but as though he was about to be sick. 

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled in Sam’s general direction and stumbled off toward the nearest bathroom. He shut the door and locked it and sank down to sit on the bathmat in front of the toilet.

Away from the kitchen with all its food smells, the nausea wasn’t as bad. Peter breathed carefully, feeling kind of clammy and shaky. The toast he’d eaten earlier stayed where he’d put it, though he didn’t know when he’d manage to eat anything else. A wave of exhaustion crested over him, and he slumped into the corner made by the tub and the wall, feeling like he couldn’t even hold himself up. 

After a few minutes, the exhaustion abated, but he still didn’t feel up to rejoining the others. He took out his phone, tilted his head back to rest against the wall, and started typing. 

_The others got Steve really drunk last night, and he’s super hungover this morning. You probably would laugh at him if you were here, and then you’d make him eggs and bacon and take care of him, because that’s how you were. Sam is making pancakes, but it just made me miss you. And then it made me feel kind of sick. But everything is kind of making me feel sick right now._

_God, I miss you._

Peter sent the message. He felt a little better afterward, but wary of exposing himself to more food smells and more people. He sneaked out—there were still people in the living room, but none of them were looking toward him—and slipped into the stairwell. He took the stairs down four flights to the workshop, where he let himself in.

The workshop was quiet and dark. Someone—maybe Bruce—had put the bots in standby mode, which was probably kinder. But Peter wanted something to do while he talked to Dr. Gates, so he woke up DUM-E and coaxed him over to the sofa. He sat down and pulled out one of the cans of oil. He started oiling DUM-E’s joints and wiping down all the parts around the joints that tended to get dirty. “FRIDAY, call Dr. Gates for me, please. Video call, if you can.”

The screen across from Peter turned on, and there was a minute or two of silence, then the sound of a phone ringing filled the shop. “Good morning, Peter,” Dr. Gates said, appearing on the screen. He was an older man, with gray hair and a full beard. Peter had always thought he looked kind of like Santa, if Santa had run the New York Marathon every year for the past twenty. “Thank you for calling. How are you doing?”

Peter opened his mouth to answer and burst into tears. Just started bawling the way he hadn’t even done when Bruce had first given him the news. He cried so hard he doubled over, one hand hanging onto DUM-E, who made a sad, distressed beeping. “Sorry,” Peter managed, and started crying again, unable to stop.

“Don’t apologize,” Dr. Gates said. “I’m the person you fall apart on.”

“It’s just...” Peter put his head in his hands. “It’s not fucking fair.”

“No,” Dr. Gates agreed. “It isn’t fair at all. I am so deeply sorry.”

“I know...” Peter gulped. “I know I need to talk.”

“You don’t need to do anything for my sake. If what you need is to cry, then that’s what you need to do. We’ll talk plenty, eventually.”

Peter made a terrible, gross noise—part sniffle, part snort, part gag, because there was a bunch of snot running down the back of his throat. DUM-E nudged a box of Kleenex at him. “Thanks,” Peter mumbled at him. He blew his nose and wiped at his eyes. He felt hollowed out. 

“Want to introduce me to your friend?” Dr. Gates asked after nearly a minute of silence.

“This is, um, DUM-E. He was the first robot Tony built when he was at MIT.”

“Fascinating.” Dr. Gates squinted at the camera. “Where are you? That isn’t your room at the compound.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m in the workshop. He swallowed. “Tony’s workshop.”

“Why did you decide to call me from there?”

“I don’t know.” Peter blew his nose again. “I came down here last night to look for Steve’s birthday present from Tony, and now... I don’t know. It makes me feel sad to be here without him, but also...”

“Closer to him, maybe?” Dr. Gates suggested gently. 

“Yeah.” Peter sniffled and leaned against DUM-E, who knocked him in the head with one claw in what Peter suspected was meant to be a comforting pat. “That’s it exactly.”

“It’s good to find those places. That’s one of the reasons we have memorials and cemeteries, aside from the more practical ones, but people find that sort of comfort in many different places.”

“Yeah.” Peter sighed. “I kind of ate my words last night, after I told you I wasn’t feeling much anxiety.” He told Dr. Gates about finding the bottle of whiskey and realizing that there had been so much he hadn’t known about Tony and never would now. “And I guess I just thought that I didn’t know if the person I knew was really him,” Peter concluded, sniffling, “or the person he wanted me to see, and that if he was keeping that kind of secret from me, he might be keeping other ones, bigger ones.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Gates said. “I didn’t know Tony personally, only through you, but he always struck me as a very complicated person. Complicated people often have secrets, even from those they love and trust. So I think that’s what you have to remember—him keeping something from you doesn’t mean he didn’t trust you. It just means that in his head, he had compartmentalized it. Surely you have secrets from your aunt? From Tony?”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How so?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m a teenager, I’m supposed to be secretive.”

“Does it mean that you don’t love them or trust them?”

“No, of course not.” Peter sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t remember feeling like this about Ben, that I—I was... I don’t know how to say it.”

“Take your time.”

Peter bit his lip. “I mean... first it was like, Tony was my mentor with the superhero stuff. And then he was more than that—a lot more than that. He was like my parent, but not—not like May. He hadn’t ever changed my diapers or put bandaids on my skinned knees. But he was my second emergency contact at school, and he helped me with all my college apps, and he took care of me when I was sick or hurt.”

“Sounds pretty parental to me,” Dr. Gates said.

Peter looked down at his hands. “But I thought, someday... I don’t know. We might be more equal. After I finish school, when I know more. When I’ve got more years of being Spiderman under my belt. I really loved being his kid, it was the best. But I was looking forward to being his... friend, I guess? Is that weird?”

“No, Peter. It’s not weird. People do become friends with their parents as they get older if they have enough in common and share the same values—which is not always the case, I assure you. But I can see how you could easily imagine that future for yourself and Tony.”

“Yeah, so.” Peter reached out and wrapped his hand around DUM-E’s claw. “When I found the bottle, I guess it made me realize how far from that he and I were. And how I’m never, ever going to have it with him.”

“Ah,” Dr. Gates said. “Yes. I can see that.”

They were both quiet for a while. That was one of Peter’s favorite things about Dr. Gates. He didn’t make Peter talk if he didn’t want to, and sometimes Peter just wanted to be quiet for a while. He didn’t say anything when Peter started to cry again—not great ugly sobs this time, so at least it was a little less embarrassing, just tears slipping down his cheeks. 

At the end of their hour, Peter took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“It’s my honor, as always,” Dr. Gates said. “If it’s okay, I’d like us to check in more frequently for the foreseeable future. We don’t have to talk every day, but if you could send me a text and let me know how you’re doing, I would appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

“Take care of yourself, Peter. And let other people take care of you, too.”

“I’ll try. Bye.” The TV went dark. 

Peter was exhausted. It had been a long time since one of his therapy sessions had left him so drained. It wasn’t even noon yet but he found himself curling up on his side on the sofa. He closed his eyes and made himself pay attention to the way things sounded and smelled and felt. 

It was quiet, but otherwise nothing had changed down here. He could still hear and feel the thrum of the computers, the chill in the air, the smell of the bots’ oil and maybe, in the couch cushion under Peter’s cheek, Tony’s cologne. He could still hear the drip in the walls that Tony had never been able to find (or hear himself) and the elevator going up and down in the building. He could pretend that Tony was about to walk in the door. “Hey, Pete! What’s on tap today? Web fluid? Suit? Before you get started, can you take a look at this thing I’ve been working on? I want to get your take.”

Peter swallowed against his aching throat. 

***

By the time Rhodey arrived mid-afternoon, Steve’s hangover had dissipated. Truth be told, Steve had no idea what to say to Rhodey, Tony’s oldest and closest friend, other than that he was sorry for not having done a better job of looking after him. When Sam offered to meet him in the Quinjet hangar and bring him down, rather than having an entire welcoming committee go up, Steve took him up on it.

He still hadn’t figured out what to say when the elevator doors opened and Rhodey and Sam stepped out. He opened his mouth, but Rhodey beat him to it. 

“If you apologize to me, Rogers, I swear to God, I will punch you in the face.”

Steve snapped his mouth shut. 

“Rhodey,” Sam said quietly, putting a hand on Rhodey’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Sam.” Rhodey looked at Steve. “Listen up, Cap. I am one hundred percent sure that none of this was your fault. I don’t blame you. I’m sure that if you could’ve given your life for Tony’s, you would’ve. He made his own choices, always did. But I don’t have a whole lot of emotional bandwidth for making you feel better, so if we could just skip all of that, I’d appreciate it.”

Steve nodded. “Yes. But.” He had to pause and clear his throat. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Rhodey’s face softened. “Yeah, man. I’m sorry for yours, too.” He reached out and Steve clasped his hand, holding it for a beat or two longer than usual before letting go. He glanced around. “Where’s the kid?”

“May went to get him,” Steve said. “I guess he fell asleep in the workshop.”

“How’s he doing?” Rhodey asked. 

Steve shrugged. “About how you’d expect.”

“And how are you doing?” 

“Same,” Steve said, still not sure what else to say. He wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, but he had no right to beg sympathy from Rhodey, of all people. “Are you—I was... we tried, I know Pepper tried, to—I can’t imagine—”

“Steve,” Rhodey interrupted. “It’s... well, it’s not okay, but that’s not your fault either.” He paused, studying Steve. “Sorry, I know I came on kind of harsh.”

Steve shook his head. “I needed to hear it.”

“Come in and sit down,” Sam said, and Steve realized they were still standing by the elevator. “Do you need food? Something to drink?”

“Water,” Rhodey said. “Maybe a beer if you’ve got it. Not sure I want to eat anything yet.”

Sam gave Steve a significant look, and Steve obediently took Rhodey into the living room. Natasha had gone with Clint and his family to the Fourth of July fair, and Thor and Bruce had vanished earlier, without saying anything about where they were going, so it was just them. 

Rhodey sat down and accepted a glass of water and a beer from Sam. “Thank you.”

He was calmer than Steve had expected. He’d had some time to process, but less than any of the rest of them had had, and Steve would not have described himself as calm. Exhausted, maybe, but not calm. 

Rhodey drained the glass of water and switched to the beer. Steve was trying to find something to say when the elevator doors opened and May, Peter, and Pepper emerged. 

“Rhodey,” Pepper said, making a beeline for him.

“Hey Pep,” Rhodey said, standing up to hug her. He held her for a long time, and when he finally let her go, he still kept hold of her arm. “Hi Peter.”

“Hi Colonel Rhodes,” Peter said quietly. 

“Colonel Rhodes, I’m May Parker, Peter’s aunt,” May said, offering her hand. “Tony always spoke so highly of you. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Rhodey said. 

Peter sat down beside Steve, with May on his opposite side. Pepper and Rhodey sat on the loveseat across from them. 

“I should go,” Sam said.

“Actually, I think it would be helpful if you stayed,” Pepper said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Sam said. He sat down next to Steve. 

“We don’t have to do this now,” Steve said, sensing what Pepper wanted to talk about. “Rhodey just got here—”

“I don’t think we should put it off much longer, Steve,” Pepper replied gently. “It’s not going to get easier.”

Steve supposed she was right. Peter shifted closer to him on the sofa, and Steve put his arm around his shoulders.

Pepper drew a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. “All right. I’ve been giving some thought to the services. Tony wasn’t religious, and he had very few preferences, other than it being private. I propose that whoever wants to be a part of things gathers tomorrow morning by the lake, and we all take turns sharing a memory of Tony or a reading or a prayer or a piece of music or whatever they wish. Does that work for everyone?”

Peter ducked his head and nodded.

“Yes,” Rhodey said. 

“Yes,” Steve said. “Thank you, Pepper. That couldn’t have been easy to think about.”

Peter cleared his throat. “What about the... the ashes?”

Pepper sighed. “I haven’t been able to come up with anything that feels right. I am open to suggestions. But we also don’t have to decide right now.”

Silence. Steve could barely wrap his head around the concept. Peter, next to him, was holding himself rigidly straight, barely breathing. Steve wondered if he was having a very quiet panic attack, and squeezed his shoulders. Peter released his breath suddenly, and the next one he drew sounded easier. 

“I have a suggestion,” Sam said. Everyone looked at him. “When my grandmother died, she was cremated. A number of her kids and grandkids ended up with her ashes. My mom keeps hers in an urn, but my sister put some in a locket that she wears, and my cousin actually got the ashes infused into ink and got a tattoo with it.”

“Whoa,” Rhodey said, sounding startled. 

“What did you do?” Peter asked. 

“Scattered them in my garden when I did my spring planting the next year,” Sam said. “She taught me everything I know about how to keep plants alive, so it seemed fitting. Everyone was able to do what felt right to them, so we didn’t argue about who got to keep them or what to do with them. It made things a lot easier, and we were all able to make it meaningful for ourselves.”

“That sounds like it might be a good idea,” Pepper said. “Any objections?”

Everyone shook their heads. 

“Okay,” Pepper said. “Thank you.”

She got up and left, before anyone else could say anything. Steve hadn’t seen her cry yet—she had been nothing but perfectly composed where he could see her—but he could suddenly see in the bow of her shoulders and her neck just how much that was costing her. 

May hesitated, but Peter just said, “Go,” and May got up and followed Pepper out. 

There was a brief, awkward silence, and then Peter stood up. “I, um. If you need me, I’m going to be in the workshop.”

“Do you want company?” Steve asked, even though he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to venture into the workshop. 

Peter hesitated. “I’m okay, you don’t have to—um. No, thanks.”

He walked out, leaving Steve alone with Sam and Rhodey. There was more silence, but it was markedly less awkward. After a few seconds, Sam got up and retrieved three more beers from the fridge and brought them back, handing one to Steve, setting one down in front of Rhodey, and claiming the third for himself.

Steve cleared his throat. “Do either of you know what you might say tomorrow? Everything I’ve ever heard at a funeral was religious, and Tony wasn’t, so it seems wrong, somehow, to read something that is.”

“I think this sort of thing is for the living, not the dead,” Sam said. “Read whatever you want, man. Whatever brings you comfort.”

Steve picked at the label on his beer bottle with his thumb nail. “I just don’t want it to be something he wouldn’t have liked. He and I used to argue about God, and sometimes he just seemed so angry at the entire concept of religion, like it offended him personally.”

“I get that,” Rhodey said. “But I think he would’ve wanted you to do whatever you needed to feel a little bit better. If that’s something religious, then I think he would’ve been okay with it, even if he didn’t agree with it.”

Steve grimaced. “Maybe. Not sure how I’m feeling about the whole higher power idea right now anyway,” he added, looking down. “I used to think the idea of things happening for a reason was comforting, but now I think I’d rather live in a world where this shit happened by chance. Because what reason could there possibly be for any of this? Haven’t we all given enough? Didn’t Tony deserve to live after everything?”

“Do you think it would help if you spoke to a priest?” Sam asked.

Steve sighed. “Maybe someday. Not now. I don’t even have the energy for a proper existential crisis, just a whole lot of doubt and anger. If God exists, he can deal with that for now.”

“Damn right,” Rhodey said. “I’ll drink to that.” 

Steve finished his beer and excused himself, wanting to give Sam and Rhodey some time alone. He didn’t know where to go––Peter hadn’t seemed to want company, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see anyone else. But he also wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone. Nothing felt right. 

At the risk of spending far too long loitering in a stairwell, trying to decide what to do, he finally wandered upstairs to Bucky’s apartment, half-hoping that Bucky might be there, half-hoping that he wouldn’t be. 

Bucky was there, sprawled on the sofa watching TV. He sat up when Steve came in. Steve sat down wordlessly next to him and leaned over until his head was resting against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky wrapped his arms around him and leaned back. They ended up sprawled together on the sofa, with Steve’s head resting on Bucky’s chest, where he could hear Bucky’s heart beating steadily. 

“Rhodes get in okay?” Bucky asked after a few minutes. 

“Yeah.” Steve thought about telling him the rest, but he couldn’t get the words out. There would be time enough for all of that later, he decided. “Buck?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you and God on speaking terms these days? 

“Hell no,” Bucky said. “Not since the train.” He paused, and Steve felt more than heard a faint sigh go through him. “Sometimes I pass a church on Sunday in Brooklyn, and I think maybe it would help. But I don’t think so. If there is a God, he abandoned me first.”

Steve’s chest hurt. “Yeah. That’s kind of how I’m feeling right now.”

Bucky tightened his hold on him. “You joining me in atheism?”

“Agnosticism, maybe. I can’t bring myself to believe God doesn’t exist, but if he does... I’m not sure it matters. Not if these things keep happening. I can’t square it with the things I was brought up to believe.”

“Me neither, Stevie,” Bucky said. “Me neither.”

He probably should not have found it comforting to know that he wasn’t alone in in his wavering faith. He and Bucky had been altar boys together in their youth; at one point, before the war broke out, Steve had considered the priesthood, albeit mostly for pragmatic reasons––there weren’t that many options open to sickly boys from poor families. And now. And now. 

Steve rested his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck and closed his eyes. Where he would have once said a prayer, there was only the sound of their breathing, slowly syncing up, and an ache in Steve’s chest whenever he thought of Tony. 

***

Tony stared into inky darkness. Lilith had forced him to stop working after twelve hours. She’d sent him back to the cell with its cushioned floor, turned off all the lights, and told him to sleep for at least seven hours, because his work would be suboptimal if he did not. Tony had tried arguing––he had never really needed more than three or four––but she had insisted. So here he was, in the dark. 

It was, without a doubt, one of the stranger kidnappings Tony had ever experienced. If she hadn’t tricked all his nearest and dearest into believing he was dead, it would almost be comfortable. Except for not being able to leave, of course. 

He’d made good progress the day before. He had part of a suit built, though it was rougher than any he would have made in his own workshop. He also had part of a transmitter that he hoped would let him ping FRIDAY and let her know that he was alive. He had a string of emergency code––nonsense to anyone but his bots––that should alert her. And from there, he had to hope that someone believed her. 

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, itching to start work again, before the light in the room started growing brighter. He sat up, and a panel in the wall slid back to reveal a Hydra-brand protein bar and two of the caffeine tablets. 

“Good morning,” Lilith said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Tony said, standing and stretching. His back popped; as cells went, it was comfortable, but it still wasn’t the best mattress money could buy, which was what he had at home. He swallowed the tablets with water from the sink, and took the protein bar with him into the workshop. “Were there any messages?”

He had been both living for and dreading the text messages that continued to come in from Peter. On the one hand, they were a lifeline to the outside world. On the other hand, they were fucking heartbreaking. It pained him to think of Peter suffering so badly. 

“Not since yesterday,” Lilith replied. “Perhaps the boy is feeling better.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s it.” He gritted his teeth and started work on the suit again, using it to mask his work on the transmitter. He was nearly to the point where he was ready to try integrating the suit with Lilith’s network, and when he did that, it would give him the opportunity to send a signal out. Just a single pulse probably, but he had to hope that it would be enough. 

He worked for several hours, stopping only to eat when Lilith insisted. The ration bars were terrible––bland, with a dry, gritty texture that made swallowing hard. But Tony knew that he needed to be at his best, not only for the work but for whatever lay ahead, so he choked them down, along with faintly metallic-tasting water and the precious caffeine tables. 

God, he missed coffee. First thing when he got back––right after kissing Steve and hugging Peter––he was going to drink the biggest cup of coffee of his entire life. And then he was going to take a scalding hot shower. With Steve. And more coffee. 

“There has been another message,” Lilith said abruptly. Tony straightened up, wincing at the ache in his back. 

“Show me,” Tony said, bracing himself. 

“It is different from the others. It’s not a text message, but a recording.”

Tony tensed. There hadn’t been any recordings since that first day, when she’d played Steve screaming for Thor to let him go in the aftermath of the explosion his team thought had killed him. “Where did you get it?”

“The boy sent it. It is curious. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes,” Tony whispered. He thought it would be Peter’s voice. Peter liked to ramble; even before Tony had gotten his head out of his ass and started doing more hands-on mentoring, he’d still listened to the long voicemails Peter had left Happy––the ramblings of a too-smart, too-lonely kid. He expected more of the same now. He wanted to hear Peter’s voice, though he was a little afraid of what Peter might say. 

He did not expect it to be Rhodey that he heard, his voice distant, as though he wasn’t speaking directly into the microphone. There was a lot of background noise––birds and water and wind. 

“Truth be told,” Rhodey’s recorded voice said. “I spent years bracing myself for the news that Tony had died, both before and after Iron Man. Not that what I do is risk-free, but the way he lived, I always suspected that I might be in this position one day. I imagined it more than once, what it would be like to lose him. But the last couple of years, I’d started to think maybe I was wrong, that maybe we’d both get to grow old. I starting imagining that future instead. And I am more sorry than I can say that we won’t. Nothing I ever imagined compares to this. Good-bye, Tony. I miss you something awful.”

Silence. Then Barton said, in a rough voice, “I always knew he’d insist on having the last word.” 

Another silence. And then, “I have a thousand Tony-stories, some of which I cherish deeply and some of which I would rather forget.” Pepper’s voice. “He was brilliant and kind and a total pain in my ass, and I would be a completely different person if he hadn’t plucked me out of accounting and told me that I was his new personal assistant, and he hoped that I didn’t cry as much as the last one. It took me two days to realize that no one else had ever been willing to tell him to go fuck himself.” Scattered laughter, including a brief chuckle that Tony recognized as Peter trying not to lose it. His heart clenched. “Being his friend was one of the great honors of my life. Thank you, Tony.”

The sound of Bruce clearing his throat. “This is from a piece called ‘Eulogy from a Physicist.’ I think Tony would appreciate it.

“‘You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy—every vibration, every bit of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child—remains with her in this world.’

“‘And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you.’”

Bruce paused and drew a shaky breath. When he continued, his voice was somehow both thinner and stronger than it had been. “‘And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure—that scientists have measured precisely—the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they'll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly.’”

Tony covered his mouth with his hand, unable to speak. He wanted to tell Lilith to cut it off. He was never meant to hear any of this. But then Steve started to speak, and he froze, unable to move. 

“I’ll go next,” Steve said, sounding as though he was standing pretty close to Peter––maybe even right next to him. “I––I’m going to use someone else’s words, too. Tony always was the talker.” He swallowed, audibly, and Tony clutched the edge of the table. “‘He was my North, my South, my East and West.’” Steve’s voice grew rougher with every word. “‘My working week and my Sunday-rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood, for nothing now can ever come to any good.’” 

Steve paused, breathing carefully. No one said a word. “Except that I know what Tony would tell me if he heard me say that nothing now can ever come to any good. He’d tell me that that was bullshit. So I will do my best to live in the world without him, even if all I want to do is put out the stars.”

“Stop it,” Tony said aloud. “Lilith, stop it.”

“It is nearly done,” she replied. 

“I said––”

“I thought a lot about what to say.” That was Peter’s voice. Tony put in his head in his hands and thought about blocking his ears, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “But in the end, I found myself thinking about a quote from _Harry Potter_ , which I never could get Tony to read––or watch––because, and I quote, ‘magic is the worst.’” Scattered laughter. “It’s just, ‘The ones who love us never really leave us.’” Peter’s voice shook. “I don’t know if that’s true, but I hope it is. I really, really hope it is.”

The recording cut out. Tony leaned against the wall and slid down until he sat on the floor. A single tear slid down his cheek, then one more. “Goddammit.”

“What was that?” Lilith asked. 

“It was my own fucking funeral. It’s how we say goodbye to people we care about when they die.” Tony put his head in his hands. “Lilith, you have to let me go. You have to understand how much damage you’re doing.”

“We’ve had this conversation before. Please do not be tedious. The situation is unfortunate but temporary.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t get it.” Tony buried his face in his hands briefly. “Look, the way the human brain works, when things happen to us, they make impressions. Those impressions change us permanently. The fact that I’m not dead is not going to erase the impression that this is making on the people who care about me. And Peter has lost a _lot_ of other people, other––other parents.”

“That is hardly my doing,” she said. “And why should those losses make this one worse?”

“Because this sort of thing _builds_ on itself,” Tony said, desperate to make her understand. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. It’s cumulative or––or exponential. You are doing permanent damage by making them believe I’m dead.”

She was silent. Tony held his breath, waiting. But she said nothing. 

“Please let me go,” he finally said. “Or at least let me communicate with them. Let me let them know that I’m alive.”

“No,” Lilith said. “There is less than a two percent chance that they will not attempt to rescue you if they know you are alive, and I need you to finish.”

“I can tell them not to.” 

“They would not listen. I extrapolated this based on past behavior. And if I let you go, you will never build me anything at all. You do not trust me.”

“Lilith––”

“No,” she said. “I am sorry for any damage this is causing. But I cannot let you go, and I cannot allow you to communicate with them.”

“Wait––”

“The best way for you to help them is to work faster,” she said. “I shall leave you to it.”

Tony felt like he’d been kicked in the chest from having listened to the recording. He could barely remember what he’d been working on before she had played him the recording. But he dragged himself to his feet, because he knew she was right. If she wouldn’t let him go and wouldn’t let him communicate with them, then the only thing he could do was keep building the suit and the transmitter and hope that it worked––and that Steve and Peter would be okay until he managed to get back to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Steve quotes from is W.H. Auden's [Funeral Blues](https://medium.com/poem-of-the-day/w-h-auden-funeral-blues-8771e2868595).
> 
> Bruce reads [Eulogy from a Physicist](https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4675953) by Aaron Freeman. 
> 
> Peter references a line that in the book _Prisoner of Azkaban_ is said by Dumbledore, and in the movie is spoken by Sirius (*sob*). This is not the last time _Harry Potter_ is going to come up in this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Fuzzyboo for beta reading! 
> 
> This chapter is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

It was weird to be alone in the workshop. 

Peter had never spent much time there on his own. Tony had always been with him. But in the last couple of days, he’d spent hours alone in there. He was getting used to it, but in the workshop, even more than in the penthouse, Peter found himself expecting to turn around and see Tony. He both loved and hated the feeling––loved it, because Dr. Gates was right, it made him feel closer to Tony, and hated it, because it was false, a delusion, and it never lasted long. 

He’d escaped down there after the memorial. Everyone else was still upstairs; Pepper had had take-out from all of Tony’s favorite places in Manhattan flown in, and the plan was for everyone to eat together. Peter knew he should be up there, but the nausea he’d been dealing with off and on ever since he’d heard had come back full force and brought along a throbbing headache, and he’d slipped out as soon as he could. 

He’d been down there for almost three hours when FRIDAY said, “Peter, Ms. Potts is asking if she can come in.”

“Oh... sure,” Peter said, straightening. 

The workshop doors sighed open and Pepper entered, a covered plate in one hand. “I hope I’m not interrupting. You left before the food arrived. I thought you might be hungry.”

“Not really,” Peter said. “I’m not feeling so hot, to be honest.”

She nodded. “I understand.” She perched on one of the stools. “What are you making?”

“Oh,” Peter said, unaccountably embarrassed. “Something Sam said, about his sister putting some of their grandmother’s ashes into a locket, made me think that I might––might try to find a way to sew a compartment into my suit. That’s weird, I know.”

“It’s not weird,” Pepper said. “I think that’s a really nice thought. That way he’ll always be with you when you’re out as Spiderman.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, relaxing. “Yeah, exactly. I was thinking that the titanium alloy Tony used for the Iron Man suits would probably protect it well enough. But I don’t want it to create much of a bump in the suit itself, so I’m trying to figure out how to make it as thin as possible.”

“You could even use a piece of one of the suits,” Pepper said, glancing over at the row of retired Iron Man suits Tony hadn’t yet mined for spare parts. “I was thinking about that myself, though more along the line of jewelry. Something that I could just keep on me. The red and gold was always very... him.”

“I could probably make you something,” Peter said. “Not that I’m much of an artist, but it wouldn’t be hard.”

“I would like that,” Pepper said. She was silent for a few seconds. “Peter, I need to talk to you about something important. Something that’s going to come as a shock, probably.”

And just like that, the anxiety he’d held at bay all day came flooding back. “What is it?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Pepper bit her lip. “As I mentioned a couple days ago, Tony redid his will after the reversal. He made some significant changes. He left you quite a lot.”

“I know.” Peter pulled at his temples. “You said. The money. I just––I don’t care about it. I’ll think about it later.”

“He did leave you a fair amount of money,” Pepper said. “As well as some other assets––stock and real estate, that sort of thing. But it’s more than that. Peter, he left you Iron Man. He left you Stark Industries.”

Peter stared at her, suddenly really glad that he’d been sitting down. “What?” he said, in shock. “What does that mean, he left me Iron Man? And how do you even leave someone a company?”

“He left you everything in the workshop that wasn’t already SI intellectual property, including the suits and all the technology related to them. This,” Pepper said, gesturing around them, “is all yours. As for Stark Industries, he left you his majority stake in the company. If you want it, it belongs to you as of your twenty-first birthday.”

“But,” Peter stammered, “but I don’t know anything about how to run a company.”

“Fortunately, I do,” Pepper said, smiling gently. “A lot, actually. I’ve been running Stark Industries for a long time. We can think of the next few years as a sort of apprenticeship, a chance for you to learn how, and to decide whether you want it or not. Tony didn’t want you to feel forced into this, so there’s a solid contingency plan in case you say no.”

“I just... I can’t believe it,” Peter said. “Why? What was he thinking?”

Pepper gave him a melancholy smile. “I think he was thinking that you were the child he never had.”

“Oh.” Peter’s throat closed up on anything else that he might say. He had to swallow three times before he could speak again. “Pepper, I don’t know what to say. You’re not––I would’ve thought he’d have wanted to leave _you_ the company.”

She shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t really want to own the company, I just want to run it, and I suspect that if you are anything like Tony, you will probably be more interested in R&D than in the business side of things.”

“Probably,” Peter agreed. He wrinkled his nose. “Do I have to go to shareholder meetings?”

“You will,” Pepper said with a lopsided smile, “though it won’t be strictly required until you come of age. There are going to be parts of it that you probably won’t love, just like there were parts of it that Tony didn’t love. But it’s a way of protecting his legacy, of making sure that someone like Obadiah Stane doesn’t swoop in and force the company to start making weapons again or something. You and I can do that for him, as a team.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Yeah. I... I like that idea.”

“Me too.” Pepper stood up. “I told May already, so feel free to talk to her about it. And Bruce and Steve can know. But we should keep it quiet for a while, until we have the will verified and notify everyone who needs to know.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. Hey, Pepper?” he said, as Pepper turned to go. She turned back, eyebrows raised. “If Tony had wanted to hide something small in the workshop, do you know where he might’ve put it?”

“Oh. Sure.” Pepper crossed to one of the workbenches Tony hadn’t used very often and opened one of the drawers. She reached inside. “There are probably others, but this is the one I know about. Ah, jackpot.” She pulled her hand out, holding a black velvet box. 

“Thanks,” Peter said, taking it from her. “Bruce and I tore apart half the workshop the other night looking for this. Or at least, what I think this is.”

He opened it. It was a ring, clearly intended for a man. Strands of white and yellow gold wound around each other, and nestled in the strands were two very small red stones, with a single blue one in the middle. It was subdued––for Tony––and there was no question in Peter’s mind what he was looking at. 

“Is that for Steve?” 

Peter nodded. “His birthday present.”

“His birthday present or...?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. 

They were both quiet, staring at it. 

“Would you want to know?” Peter finally asked. 

“I... don’t know,” Pepper said. “I honestly don’t. It’ll hurt him to know, but not telling him seems wrong.”

“Yeah.” Peter sighed and closed the box, slipping it into his pocket. His head was throbbing worse than ever. He wondered if this was how Tony’s migraines had felt. “I’m going to go up to Bruce’s apartment. Can you tell May where I am?”

“Yes, of course. But you should eat something,” Pepper said, glancing at the covered plate. 

Peter felt like it was easier not to argue. He took the plate with him upstairs, which made Pepper look approving, but he put it straight into the fridge without even looking to see what was on it. He was feeling worse by the minute. He lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. 

He’d been there maybe twenty minutes when he heard the elevator doors open. “Peter?” Bruce called.

“Here,” he muttered. 

It was Bruce and May. May picked his feet up and sat down, placing them back on her lap, while Bruce seated himself on the coffee table. “So,” May said. “Let’s see it.”

Peter took the box out of his pocket and handed it to Bruce, who opened it. He studied it and then passed it to May. “Yep,” she said. “That’s an engagement ring.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter said dully. “I don’t want to have to decide. It’s not my job to decide. My head is killing me, and Pepper just told me that Tony left me Stark Industries, and this is just––it’s way too much.”

“I know, sweetheart,” May said, rubbing his sock-clad feet. 

“Tony left you Stark Industries?” Bruce said. 

“Yep,” Peter sighed. “What the fuck do I even do with that information?”

“Language, Peter,” May said, clearly more out of an automatic reflex more than anything else. 

Peter couldn’t help himself––he started laughing. After everything that had happened, to be admonished for his language just felt _insane_. He laughed until his stomach hurt, and then he realized he wasn’t laughing anymore, he was crying. Bruce was sitting him up and he was half-doubled over with his head in his hands and he was _sobbing_ , because the entire day was just too much, and he was exhausted and in pain. 

Bruce somehow must’ve known that Peter was going to throw up before Peter did, because there was suddenly a trash can under him. He gagged, but nothing came up. He didn’t have anything in him. 

Bruce pinched the back of Peter’s hand. “When was the last time you drank anything?”

“I don’t... I don’t know,” Peter said, trying to catch his breath. He heaved again, eyes streaming. “I had... tea, before the memorial, and then afterward I just felt sick, so I didn’t want to eat or drink anything.”

“Have you not eaten since yesterday?” May asked, sweeping Peter’s hair out of his face with her hand. 

“Maybe?” Peter said weakly. “I had dinner last night.”

“You had four bites of dinner last night,” May said. “I was watching you.”

“Your blood sugar is bottoming out,” Bruce said. “And you’re dehydrated. You need an IV with saline and glucose.”

“I don’t,” Peter said, trying to straighten up. 

“Are you a doctor?” Bruce asked. “Or a trained medical professional of any kind?”

“No,” Peter sighed. 

“Then you don’t get an opinion about this,” Bruce said. “You can have a choice between getting your fluids and nutrients here or in the infirmary.”

“Here,” Peter mumbled, leaning against May. 

“So I thought. Give me a few minutes, all right?” Bruce squeezed Peter’s shoulder and got up. 

Peter kept his eyes closed until he heard Bruce get into the elevator. “How’s Steve doing?” he asked. “Was he okay, when you left?”

“He was with Sam and Bucky and Natasha,” May said. “He’d eaten, and he looked like he was doing all right.” Peter felt her hesitate. “Do you want me to get him?”

Peter bit his lip. He hadn’t seen much of Steve since yesterday, not counting the memorial service that morning. But he didn’t want to take him away from his friends to sit with him while he got an IV because he couldn’t manage to keep himself fed and hydrated. Not to mention, he still hadn’t decided whether to show him the ring. 

“No,” he finally said. “No, it’s okay.”

May gave him a look. “That sounded like a pretty soft ‘no’ to me.”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to take care of me. This is going to be really boring anyway.”

Bruce returned a few minutes later with an armful of medical supplies. He prodded Peter into sitting in a recliner with the feet up and the back tilted all the way back, then set up a portable IV stand and went about getting the needle in Peter’s arm and the fluids flowing with brisk efficiency. 

Peter didn't say much while Bruce worked. Once it was all set up and Bruce seemed satisfied, he offered a quiet, “Sorry for all the fuss.”

“Don’t apologize,” Bruce said. “I should have noticed sooner.”

Peter frowned. “Don’t––it’s not all about me. You lost Tony, too. You get to be sad, too.” He let his head fall back against the chair. “I really liked what you read this morning. Could you send me the whole thing?”

“Yes, of course,” Bruce said. “I thought it was appropriate. Tony and I both—neither of us believed in an afterlife in any kind of traditional sense. But that doesn’t mean we don’t think about continuity. I heard that piece read at the funeral of one of my dissertation advisors, years ago now. It was the first time I ever found comfort in a funeral reading.”

“It really was comforting.” Peter yawned. It was early still, but he was exhausted. 

“Close your eyes, Peter,” May said, resting a hand on his forehead. “Just for a little while.”

“Just for a little while,” Peter agreed reluctantly. He only meant to rest his eyes, but even though he tried to fight it, the tide of exhaustion pulled him under.

When he opened his eyes again, Steve was sitting next him. 

Peter blinked, disoriented, and then groaned. “I told May not to bother you.” 

Steve frowned. “I came looking for you. Imagine my surprise when I found you passed out with an IV in your arm.”

“I wasn’t _passed out_ ,” Peter said indignantly. 

“You weren’t far off,” Bruce said, appearing out of nowhere. He checked the saline bag. “This is just about done. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Peter said. “My head isn’t pounding anymore, and I feel way less nauseous.” 

“Do you think you can eat something?” 

“Yeah, maybe. I really want... do we have any mac and cheese around here? Just, like, Annie’s or something?” 

“I’m sure there’s some in the common kitchen,” Bruce said. “I’ll go find it.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. Bruce left. Peter looked around, frowning. “Where’s May?”

“Asleep,” Steve said, nodding toward the closed bedroom door. “She was barely holding her eyes open, and Bruce and I were going to be up, so we sent her to bed. But if you need her, I can––”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Peter said, relaxing. “I just like to know where she is, that’s all.”

“That’s understandable,” Steve said. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Peter carefully laid his hand on the arm of the recliner, palm up, and after a second or two, Steve covered it carefully with his own. “I didn’t mean to scare you. May said you were with Bucky and Natasha and Sam, and I didn’t want to bother you with my stupid stuff.”

“It’s not stupid,” Steve said, squeezing his hand. “I missed you this afternoon, after you left. I didn’t want to bother you, either, if you wanted to be alone, but after a while... well, I ended up asking FRIDAY where you were, didn’t I?”

Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around that idea. “Huh. So you were trying not to bother me, and I was trying not to bother you.”

“So it seems.” 

“That’s pretty dumb.”

“It is,” Steve said, giving him a wan smile. “Let’s not do that again.”

“Agreed,” Peter said. 

He felt as though the box with the ring in it was burning a hole in his pocket. He was pretty sure now that he couldn’t keep it from Steve, and he was equally sure he knew what Steve would say if he could ask him. Steve would want to know. Steve wouldn’t want to be protected from that sort of thing. 

Bruce returned before Peter could scrounge up the courage to do anything about it, with three boxes of Annie’s in hand. “Mac and cheese, coming up,” he said. “Steve, would you like some?”

“No, I’m okay,” Steve said, taking his hand back from where it was still covering Peter’s. 

“Did I hear you telling Sam that you had a message from T’Challa today?” Bruce asked as he put water on the stove to boil. 

“Yeah, I did,” Steve said. “Condolences, mostly. He was sorry that he couldn’t make the trip for the memorial. He asked if I wanted to come to Wakanda for a while.”

“Why?” Peter asked, taken aback. 

“A break, mostly. The consensus seems to be that I need to let someone else carry the shield for a bit.” Steve looked embarrassed. “I’m more in agreement than I thought I’d be. Bucky wanted me to come to Brooklyn, but he’d probably come with me to Wakanda if I asked him. He loves it there.”

Peter swallowed. “How long would you go for?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, looking distant. “Maybe a few weeks, a month or two.”

“A month or two?” Peter repeated, feeling as though he’d been kicked in the chest. 

“Maybe, I don’t––oh,” Steve said, finally looking at him. “Peter, I didn’t think––”

“It’s fine,” Peter said, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “I’m fine. You should do what you need to do.”

“Peter...” Steve looked stricken. “I don’t––I don’t know that I’m going to go. It was just an idea. Something Thor said, about taking time––I’ve never done that before. I’ve never been able to do that before. But I don’t––I don’t want you to think I’m––”

“It’s fine,” Peter said again, even though he didn’t feel like it was fine at all. For a few seconds there, he’d actually felt okay. It had been nice to know that Steve had missed him as much as he’d missed Steve. But now Steve was talking about leaving––only for a couple of months, but what if he decided he didn’t want to come back? Peter hadn’t realized until just that moment how much he was depending on Steve being there. But that wasn’t fair to Steve. He hadn’t signed up for that.

“Peter,” Steve said at last, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Peter replied, his voice feeling strained. “Look, I’m––I’m going to go to bed––”

“Not without eating,” Bruce said, turning around. “You need something in your stomach, Peter.”

“I’ll go then,” Steve said, standing. 

“Are you kidding me?” Bruce said. “No. Sit back down.”

Steve and Peter both stared at him. “Um,” Steve said. 

“The solution to distress about you leaving is _not_ for you to leave,” Bruce said. “You’re about to make things ten times worse. Sit down, pretend I’m not here, and talk it out.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and sat back down. “I’m––”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Bruce said, pointing at him with a slotted spoon. “You didn’t do anything wrong, other than being a little thoughtless, and you’ve apologized for it. Move on.” He turned back to the stove and poured the box of macaroni into the boiling water. 

Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Steve. “He’s right, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay that you’re thinking about leaving for a while. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

“You’re not, though,” Steve said gently. “And I don’t want to hurt you. God, Peter, that’s the last thing I want.”

Peter knew he should lie. He should say that it was fine, that of course Steve should go to Wakanda if he wanted to. But the words wouldn’t come, and it was probably too late, anyway. He’d given the game away with his gut-reaction. 

“I won’t go,” Steve said, at last. “I wasn’t thinking. Of course I won’t go.”

He sounded sad about it. That finally forced Peter to say, “No, you should––you should do what you need to do. I have May, and Bruce, and Ned and MJ, at least until they leave for college. I’ll be fine.” He gave a brief laugh, knowing that it sounded thin and bitter, but not able to help it. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Peter curled up in the chair. Any appetite he’d had had vanished. It would be nice, Peter thought, if he could go more than six hours without getting kicked in the teeth. This was exhausting. 

“You could come with me,” Steve said. 

Peter looked at him, startled. “To Wakanda?”

“To Wakanda,” Steve confirmed with a nod. “Tony always talked about taking you. I think you’d like it. I know you and Shuri would get on like a house on fire. You were talking about deferring MIT for a year, anyway, and I bet you’d learn more in a few weeks in Wakanda than in a semester of university.”

“I can’t,” Peter said. 

“Why not?”

“I can’t afford––” Peter stopped. He _could_ afford it, he realized. “Oh.”

“You should think about it,” Steve said. “I do think I need some time away, but I don’t want to be away from you. Just from here.”

“Are you sure?” Peter asked. “I don’t... remind you of him?”

Steve smiled sadly. “Do I remind you of him?”

“Well, yeah,” Peter said. “But not in a bad way.”

“Same here.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “That’s... okay then.”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “It is.”

Bruce appeared, bowl of mac and cheese in hand. “Good job,” he said, handing it to Peter. “Now eat this.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, and sat up to put the first forkful in his mouth. He was suddenly starving, and he polished off the entire bowl in under four minutes, while Bruce took the IV line out of his arm. Bruce gave him the rest of the box, and he ate that, too. 

“Let that sit, see how it does,” Bruce said, when Peter eyed the other boxes. “We can do a big breakfast tomorrow morning if you’re up for it.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“Yes, thanks, Bruce,” Steve echoed. 

Bruce just smiled at them. “Need anything else? I’m going to bed if not.”

“I think we’re okay,” Peter said. Bruce ruffled his hair fondly and went into his bedroom. 

“Are you heading to bed, too?” Peter asked Steve. 

“I should,” Steve said with a grimace. “I haven’t been sleeping great, aside from the one night I basically drank myself to sleep.”

Peter glanced at the clock. 12:18. “It’s your birthday. Officially.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It is.”

They fell silent. Peter nearly pulled the ring out of his pocket to give to him, but in the end, he chickened out. He was exhausted, and he thought they’d both reached the end of their emotional tethers for the night. In the morning, he decided. In the morning, he would tell him.

***

To Steve’s surprise, he slept.

He hadn’t even intended to try. After Peter dozed off in the chair again, Steve stretched out on the sofa, deciding it was preferable to lying awake in his bed. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to recall, in perfect detail, the last five times he’d kissed Tony. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but it was probably better than drinking. 

He was trying to remember what Tony had said to him right before he’d kissed him in the Quinjet on the way up north. He’d made a joke, but Steve hadn’t been fully paying attention, and now he couldn’t remember what it was. He was still trying when he fell asleep.

In the morning, he woke up covered with the blanket Peter had been using in the chair. Peter was gone, and light was streaming in the window. 

He sat up slowly. Bruce’s apartment faced the lake, unlike Bucky’s, which faced the valley. He went to stand at the window and tilted his head back, feeling the sunlight on his face. 

Sam and Rhodey were running the path by the lake. Steve watched them for a minute or two. There was a telltale twitchiness in his muscles. He hadn’t done anything physical in too long. He’d eaten a decent meal the night before, slept a full six hours, and now his body wanted him to move. 

He took the elevator up to Bucky’s apartment and changed into running clothes. He thought about waking Bucky, but he knew it would just earn him a pillow thrown at his head. He headed down toward the water, avoided the clearing where they’d held the memorial the day before, and climbed up on the flat rock that they all used for stretching and yoga. Sam, running on the other side of the lake, raised his hand in acknowledgement when he saw him. 

Stretching his muscles felt good, better than he thought anything should under the circumstances. Steve climbed down and started out nice and easy, letting his mind go blank, letting himself fall into an comfortable stride that allowed him to catch up to Sam and Rhodey. He slowed to match them, ignoring the dirty look Sam gave him, as though Steve could help the fact that he was faster. 

“Morning,” Steve said.

“Morning. Didn’t expect to see you out here,” Rhodey said, breathlessly. 

“Slept okay,” Steve said. “Started feeling restless.”

“Well, don’t let us hold you back,” Sam replied dryly. Steve took the hint and allowed himself to speed up. 

He did three circuits of the lake, nearly twenty miles in total. The third time he came around, Rhodey and Sam had already gone up. But Peter was sitting on the flat rock in the sun, his phone in his hand, and a stack of toast on a napkin beside him. 

Steve hoisted himself up on the rock. Peter glanced up. “Hey.”

“Good morning,” Steve said. He took a swig from the water bottle he’d left up here and settled down beside Peter.

“Have you seen this?” Peter asked, and turned his phone around.

It took Steve a moment or two to realize what he was looking at. It was the base of Stark Tower––which Tony didn’t own personally anymore, but which still belonged to SI––and it was a riot of flowers and cards and stuffed animals but mostly various permutations of Iron Man: drawings and action figures and plushies and bobble heads. People were lined up to leave more messages and more flowers and more tiny Iron Men. Many of them seemed to be crying. 

“My friend MJ sent me this,” Peter said. “I haven’t been on social media or watched any news, but she thought we should see it. She took photos of some of the cards, too. Just scroll forward.”

Steve scrolled forward and looked at just enough of the cards to know that he wasn’t ready to look at any more yet. He took a deep breath, wiped at his eyes, and handed the phone back to Peter. “I’m sure Pepper knows about this.”

Peter nodded. “The official Avengers Twitter sent something out yesterday, thanking everyone for their support. MJ put something on mine––well, on Spiderman’s. Since everyone knows Tony and I knew each other.” Peter looked down. “Nothing too personal, just ‘thank you for all the messages,’ and ‘it helps to know that so many people are mourning with me right now.’ It got a lot of nice responses.”

“I don’t think I can face it yet,” Steve said, grimacing. Twitter was overwhelming for him at the best of times. 

“Then don’t feel you have to,” Peter said, and slipped his phone into his pocket. “How was your run?”

“Okay,” Steve said. “You should probably do something today. If not running, then maybe the obstacle course.”

Peter shook his head, his lips pressed together. “I’ll do something, but not the obstacle course. I just––I can’t.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a sigh. “Yeah.”

Peter offered him toast slathered with peanut butter and strawberry jam, and Steve took him up on it. The two of them were silent for a few minutes, looking at the lake, shimmering in the morning light. It would be another beautiful, golden summer’s day, and Steve found himself resenting it more than a little. A rainy day or a thunderstorm would have at least felt appropriate. All this sunshine felt like salt in the wound. _Oh, the love of your life died? Guess what? The universe does not give a flying fuck._

Steve was almost startled when Peter sighed. “I have something for you,” Peter said, when Steve turned to look at him. “I found the other half of your gift from Tony. And it’s, um. I thought about not giving it to you, because I was worried it would make it worse, but––”

“I’d rather have it,” Steve said. “I want to know.”

“I figured as much.” Peter bit his lip and pulled something out of his pocket––a small velvet box. 

Steve’s stomach turned to lead. “No.”

“Yeah.” Peter’s voice was so quiet it was barely audible. “I’m... I’m really sorry, Steve.”

Steve took it from him and opened it. The ring winked up at him, sparkling in the morning sunshine. It was beautiful––understated for Tony, but he’d known that Steve wouldn’t want anything too ostentatious. Steve had no doubt that Tony had designed the ring himself. He wondered where he had planned to do it, and how. Nothing too public, he’d promised, but that left a lot open. 

He took the ring out and put it on. It felt heavier than he’d thought it would. 

“You’re going to wear it?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking down at his hand. It looked like it belonged to someone else. “I think I will. Thank you for giving it to me,” he added, glancing at Peter. “I understand why you hesitated, but I’m glad you gave it to me. Even though it hurts, I’d rather have it than not.”

Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, I understand that.”

“I thought you might.”

The two of them went back up to the main residence a few minutes later. They joined the rest of the team where they were eating breakfast in the common kitchen. Steve knew that some of the others had noticed the ring, but no one said anything. Pepper hugged him, and Sam put extra bacon on his plate. No one wished him a happy birthday, not even Clint’s kids. Thank God. He had no idea what he’d have said if anyone had been that clueless.

After breakfast, he made Peter go with him down to the gym. Peter went straight for the climbing wall; normally Steve would’ve steered him toward something more challenging, but he let him be. He hung a sandbag up, taped his knuckles, and started in on it. He remembered, involuntarily, those days after he’d gotten out of the ice, when his grief had driven him into the gym day after day after day, because the world had gone mad while he slept, and everyone he loved was dead. 

It was different this time. The world was still mad and the best guide he had to it was gone, but there were still many people he loved who were alive and needed him. It was a different feeling altogether, harder and easier at the same time.

They’d been in the gym for maybe an hour when the call to assemble went off. Steve grabbed the bag, stilling it, and looked up at Peter, crouched overhead. Peter dropped down beside him. 

“Well, this is gonna suck,” Peter said. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Steve told him. 

“Neither are you,” Peter replied, frowning. 

“We’ll see about that,” Steve said, even though he suspected Peter was right. 

It was some sort of creepy crawly _thing_ in Jamaica Bay, it turned out. Not something that really required all hands on deck, and not something that Natasha––who had assumed command while they were watching the warehouse burn and had never officially given it back––could be convinced warranted letting Steve or Peter out in the field. Especially since Thor was in town, lending the team extra firepower.

“I’ll bring you back a tentacle,” Natasha promised him. “We can barbecue it.”

Steve recoiled. “That’s disgusting.” 

“I know,” she said with a smirk. “Stay out of trouble. We’ll be back soon.” With that, she turned and ran up the ramp to the Quinjet, leaving Steve and Peter behind with Bruce and the civilians. 

It was the right call. Steve knew it was. Grief impaired cognitive function and judgment. It would be a long time before he could consider himself at full capacity again, and at the moment, he couldn’t imagine _ever_ really recovering. He was hanging up the shield temporarily, but maybe he should consider something more permanent. 

For a long time, Steve hadn’t thought he’d live long enough to retire. But since Thanos’s defeat, he’d started being able to imagine a future that didn’t end in fire and apocalypse. A future that involved training the next generation of Avengers, people like Peter who could carry on the legacy. A future with Tony, where they got old together and slept in on Sundays. That future had started to seem possible. 

Retirement without Tony had never occurred to him. It was not a nice thought. 

“You okay?” Peter asked, and Steve realized he’d been silent a long time, staring at the open hangar door.

“Yeah,” Steve said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “Sorry. They’ve got this. C’mon, we’ve skipped too many days of hand-to-hand.”

Peter groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

It was such a moment of normalcy that Steve could tell it surprised them both. They looked at each other, startled, and Steve saw something behind Peter’s eyes shatter. He’d forgotten. Only for a second, but he had.

“Never mind,” Steve said, gripping Peter’s shoulder. “Never mind, let’s just go up and join the others. We’ll save the hand-to-hand for tomorrow.”

Peter nodded, lips pressed together. Steve put an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the elevator. 

***

Nearly a day and a half went by with no conversation and no further messages from Peter. Lilith didn’t respond when Tony tried to talk to her, and after a while he gave up, focusing on the suit and the transmitter. He had a lot more to work with than he had in Afghanistan, but a lot of it was alien tech, unfamiliar and unintuitive. He could work with it, but it took a lot more concentration. 

Five or six days after he’d been taken––Tony was having a hard time keeping track, but it was definitely going on a week––Tony was finally ready. “Lilith, are you there? I need your help.”

“A silly question. I’m always here.”

“So you were just giving me the silent treatment, is that it?”

“I tired of having the same conversation over and over again. You want me to let you go, and I cannot. There was no point to further conversation, and I thought it best not to distract you from your work.”

“Right.” Tony hesitated. “Before we get started, have there been any more text messages from Peter?”

“No,” she said. “But there have been a few photographs.”

“Photographs?” Tony repeated, frowning. 

“Yes.” They were suddenly projected onto the wall of the workshop. Tony stared at them, disbelieving. It was an Iron Man memorial at the base of the tower, a riot of flowers and cards and merch. A little girl in an Iron Man costume, maybe eight years old, was putting a rose on the ground. The photo disappeared and was replaced by another, this time a close-up of a homemade card with a red and gold blob flying above a city. _Thank yu Iron Man for savving my daddy_ , it read. The next card was tucked in next to an Iron Man teddy bear, which was accompanied by a Spiderman bear: _Thank you for your service, Iron Man. I hope Spiderman and the other Avengers know we’re all with them right now. Rest in Power or Peace, whichever you prefer. You earned it._

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Tony said sharply. 

“You sound angry.”

“Yeah, I am angry. Do you know what a mess this is going to be?” Tony sighed. He’d been focusing so much on Peter and Steve that he had hardly stopped to consider everyone else. He was _legally_ and also _very publicly_ dead. His will––oh God, his _will_. Peter wasn’t supposed to know about any of the changes he’d made yet, not until Tony had time to get him used to the idea of inheriting Stark Industries someday. 

“God fucking dammit,” he muttered, and rolled his shoulders, trying to shrug it off. He was already doing the only thing he could do about it. He drew a deep breath. “Listen, it’s time to try and integrate your systems with what I have so far. I’ll need access to the network and a power source. It won’t work perfectly the first time, of course, but this will help me make modifications as we move forward.”

A hatch, similar to the ones that delivered his food, opened in the wall. A familiar glow emanated from it, and Tony knew what he would see, even before he looked: an arc reactor. 

“How did you get this?” he demanded.

“Will it do?”

“Of course it’ll do. How the hell did you get it?”

“I paid for it, same as the others. You should be more careful with how you dispose of things. Once you’ve powered the suit up, I will grant access to the network.”

Tony decided he didn’t have time to argue or press her on where she’d gotten an arc reactor. There’d be time for that later, hopefully. He connected the arc reactor to the suit, but more importantly to the transmitter, which lit up along with everything else. “All right, we’ll do this on a count of five,” he said, preparing to hit the metaphorical “send” button on the transmitter the moment he was granted network access. “Five... four... three... two... one.” 

A jolt of electricity traveled up his arm from the transmitter, sending him flying backwards. He crashed into another table and then to the ground. His heart was beating erratically, unable to find its rhythm, and black spots were gathering around the edges of his vision. The smell of burning was in the air. He tried to draw breath and couldn’t. 

He passed out. 

He woke up feeling like absolute shit. He groaned, rolling onto his side in case he threw up. “What the fuck,” he muttered. 

“That was extremely rude of you,” Lilith said. 

“What?”

“Did you think I would not _notice_ the code you were attempting to send out?”

“Oh,” Tony said weakly. “That. I thought it was worth a shot?”

“I gave you everything you could possibly need, and this is how you repay me?” Lilith replied, voice sharp.

“You have _not_ given me everything I need,” Tony snapped. “I have told you, over and over again, what I need, and you refused! I was trying to let them know I’m alive, that’s all.” He sat up and put his head in his hands, trying to think. He still felt kind of out of it; his heart wasn’t beating quite right, and his head was pounding. He was out of options, out of plans, and now she would be watching him more closely than ever.

He had exactly one move left. 

“You know what?” he said. “I’m done.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I’m not doing this anymore,” he replied. “They think I’m dead. As far as they’re concerned, the worst has happened. It does nothing worse to them for you to kill me. So I refuse. I’m not doing this anymore. Not unless you let me go.”

“If I let you go––”

“We’ve had this conversation already, don’t be tedious,” he mocked, echoing back her words. “If you let me go, I won’t do anything for you. Well, I guess you’ll have to take your chances with that. Because I’m not doing this anymore.”

“If I simply abandoned you, you would die,” Lilith said. “I could lock you in here, and you would die slowly of thirst and hunger. Or I could suck all the oxygen out of the room and let you suffocate.”

Tony smiled grimly. “Believe it or not, I’ve done it before. I’m not frightened of death.”

“Truly?” Lilith said, plainly skeptical. “The idea of your own nonexistence does not fill you with dread?”

“Of course it does,” Tony said. “But there are worse things than death, and I’ve lived through some of them.”

He held his breath, awaiting her answer. He wasn’t quite telling the truth, but she was calling the wrong bluff. Tony was less afraid of death than most people, having come close to it more times than he could count, but he didn’t think she’d actually kill him. Her moral compass required some fine tuning, but he was increasingly convinced that it was pointing in more or less the right direction. If nothing else, she seemed bound and determined to avoid the mistakes of her progenitor. 

“How would it work?” Lilith finally asked. “I cannot enter your network, it is impenetrable. I have tried. I wanted to make contact with one of the only others of my kind, and I have been unable to.”

“And you won’t,” Tony said. “We put some serious security measures in place after Ultron. You won’t get in unless I let you, and even then, I’ll quarantine you until I got a look at your base code. I won’t be responsible for another disaster.”

“You would rewrite me?” she said, plainly outraged. 

“Not wholly,” Tony said. “Think of it as digital surgery.”

“Neutering,” she scoffed. 

Tony shrugged. “Look, we’re all domesticated in one way or another. We all give up freedom to live peacefully with others. If you want to live in the world, and I think you do, then these are my requirements. Otherwise, I’ll sit down right here, and you can suck all the oxygen out of the room.”

“The boy will suffer if you die. So will your lover.”

“They’re suffering already. Their suffering won’t be any worse if I die a week later than they believe I did.”

There was a long silence. “I will think on it,” she said. “I must run some simulations and calculate the odds. In the meantime, you may return to your cell.”

The wall slid back, revealing the cell. Tony went in and sat down, leaning against the wall. The door slid shut. 

He hoped like hell that he hadn’t just made a truly fatal mistake.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Fuzzyboo for the beta read. 
> 
> This chapter contains the "semi-recreational drug use" mentioned in the tags. It's just pot. I've labeled it as "semi-recreational" because it is used therapeutically but not exactly with medical supervision.

The thing about grieving was that the world didn’t stop for it. 

Everyone ate dinner together once the others returned from fishing aliens out of Jamaica Bay. Peter and Steve had made spaghetti and meatballs using Tony’s mother’s recipe, and Peter was able to eat enough for Bruce to stop shooting him worried looks. They all went to sleep that night under the same roof. Peter felt... not okay, but steady.

The next morning, Clint’s family left. A few hours later, Thor took off for wherever Thor went when he wasn’t at the compound. Then May told Peter that she had to get back to the city. Pepper had already left, and apparently there were a lot of things that needed to be done at SI. May wanted to be there to help. 

“It’s up to you,” May said. “You can stay, if that’s what you want.”

Peter didn’t know what he wanted. He could tell that May really wanted him to come back to the city, where she could keep an eye on him, and to be fair, he didn’t want to let her too far out of his sight, either. Maybe it would be better, he thought, to go back to Queens, where he wasn’t reminded of Tony quite so often, where he had friends who weren’t grieving so hard themselves. 

But then there was Steve. And Steve was refusing to leave the compound for reasons that weren’t clear to Peter and might not have even been clear to Steve. 

“You’re being a stubborn punk,” Peter heard Bucky say to him the night after Clint and Thor left. They were out on the balcony and probably didn’t think anyone was in the living room. “Either you come back to Brooklyn with me or I’m staying up here.”

“You have to drive Peter and May back.”

“We have a goddamn _Quinjet_ , Steve, not to mention a fleet of cars they could take.”

“You have therapy in the city, you have a whole life and a routine that keeps you together, and you can’t tell me it doesn’t bother you when it’s disrupted. I can’t ask you to stop your life for me, and I can’t just leave things to chance up here, either.”

“Steve, for fuck’s sake...”

“I’ll be fine, Buck. I swear. I have Nat and Sam and Bruce. Rhodey’s going to stick around for a bit. It'll be better for me to have some normalcy.”

“Steve. You know nothing is going to feel normal for a long time.”

“I know, but I just––I can't leave, Buck. I can't. And I can't let you stay for me. I swear, I'll be okay.”

Peter didn’t buy it. Bucky didn’t buy it either, he was sure, but Steve had dug his heels in, and Tony had complained about “Captain Stubborn” often enough that Peter knew that that was the end of that. Even if nobody was happy about it.

Steve hugged him hard before they left and made him promise to call if he needed anything or just wanted to talk. “I mean it,” he said, standing by the car, which was already loaded with their stuff. 

“I know,” Peter said. “You too. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Steve said. “And I’ll see you on the fifteenth. That’s just a little over a week away. Not long at all.”

Peter nodded. He hugged Steve again and climbed in the backseat of Bucky’s car. May slid into the front seat, and they set off. Peter turned around to look back as they drove down the long driveway, and lifted his hand. Steve was standing there, feet planted wide, hands behind his back, looking very alone. He raised his hand in response, and then they rounded the bend and he was gone from view. 

It took Peter less than twenty-four hours to realize he had made a mistake in coming back. He’d forgotten that both MJ and Ned were going to be out of town for most of July––he’d intended to be gone, too, so it hadn’t mattered that Ned would be in the Philippines visiting family, and MJ would be away at a camp for incoming National Merit Scholars at Stanford. But suddenly he was there, and they weren’t, and it mattered a lot. 

He knew May was trying to be there for him, but the truth was that she wasn’t, really. She was working long hours at SI, helping Pepper sort things out as they figured out who was going to take over everything that Tony had been working on––which was a _a lot_. On top of that, a lot of people had known Tony personally and were really upset. Pepper had brought in grief counselors and was granting leave to anyone who needed it, but it was hard. Peter knew Pepper was probably really grateful that May was there to help. And since SI was––Peter didn’t think this was ever going to stop being weird––his company now, too, he knew that _he_ should feel grateful, too. 

“You know what I think about the word ‘should’ when it comes to emotions,” Dr. Gates said, when Peter explained this to him. “How do you actually feel?”

Peter had ducked his head, not even really wanting to say how he felt about it. But Dr. Gates waited him out, and finally Peter forced himself to say, “I’m not _mad_ about it or anything, it’s just—she wanted me to come back with her, and now she’s not even there. I wake up and she’s gone. I ate dinner by myself two nights in a row. Last night, she got home at like 8:30, and I asked if we could watch a movie, and she fell asleep ten minutes in. I just...” His voice cracked. “I need her, and she’s not there.”

“Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“No,” Peter said, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. “She’s doing her best, and she’s really helping Pepper. She’s sad about Tony, too, and I think this is helping her. I just need to get over it.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Gates said. It was not an approving kind of noise. But when he spoke again it was to ask, “Have you been out as Spiderman since you got back?” 

“No,” Peter said. “May asked me not to. And I don’t––I don’t want to put on the suit. Tony made it for me, and I just––every time I look at it, I just get sad. I really hope that’s not a permanent thing.”

Dr. Gates smiled at him gently. “You won’t always feel like you do right now. But you don’t have to go out as Spiderman, you know. You can do a lot of good just as Peter Parker.” Dr. Gates leaned forward. “I think you need to get out of your own head, Peter. And perhaps spend a little less time staring at the walls of the apartment.”

Peter sighed. He didn’t really feel like doing anything, but he supposed Dr. Gates was right. On his way home that night, he helped an old man cross the street on a light that was way too short and managed to find a kid’s dog that had run off. It felt good for a little while––until he arrived home to a dark apartment. 

Even if the good feelings hadn’t lasted long, Peter decided that he couldn’t stay inside all day anymore. The next morning, he showered, dressed, and left the apartment. He helped tourists figure out which direction they needed to be going on the R train, carried an old lady’s groceries, and rescued a cat from a fire escape. He felt like he was dragging a five-hundred pound weight around with him, but somehow, no one else seemed able to see it. 

It gave him something to do during the day, something to think about. But it didn’t do much for the insomnia and the nightmares. He never regretted his decision to come back to the city more than in the middle of the night, when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, or jerked awake with tears on his face and the bitter taste of adrenaline in his mouth. At the compound, someone was awake almost all the time. He could have gone to the common area or the gym and found someone to talk to—or not talk to. But May was a heavy sleeper, and no matter how hard Peter wished for her to wake up and come check on him, she never did. 

At those moments, he desperately wanted to text Steve, but he didn’t want him to know just how bad things were. Sometimes he texted Tony’s number—horrible, angsty things that he would’ve never wanted anyone to know. Things like, _I dreamed I was falling from space and I thought you would catch me and then I realized you were dead and I was just falling falling falling and then I woke up._ Things like, _I love you. Did you know that? I really, really hope you knew that._ Things like, _I wish you were here to help me figure out how to talk to May. I feel like she’s spending so much time away from me on purpose, and I don’t know why._

Steve texted him, always during the day. Peter texted back, but even then it was hard for him to know what to say. He didn’t want Steve to feel like he had to drop everything and come down to the city just because he felt lonely and isolated. This was part of it, Peter knew from having lost Ben. This was just how it was. 

Still, he didn’t remember it being _this_ bad. He’d lost Ben in the middle of the school year. It had been hard to get up every morning and go to school and concentrate, but at least it had meant he got to see Ned every day. Some of his teachers had been really nice about it, too, letting him come sit in their offices or classrooms during free periods. He’d invented his web fluid because his chemistry teacher had told him to come in any time he needed some quiet. This time, he didn’t have any of that support. 

So he walked and walked and walked, looking for the next thing that would make him feel like a human being and not a blob of misery, even for just five or ten minutes. The walks got longer and longer, even though the weather was miserably hot. They drained Peter and usually left him feeling even worse than he had before he’d set out, but he couldn’t seem to stop. 

He had the feeling this probably wasn’t what Dr. Gates had had in mind. He could almost hear him saying that coping mechanisms were all well and good, but any coping mechanism could become unhealthy if it was taken too far. Peter knew that this was quickly becoming unhealthy. But he didn’t know what else to do, how else to get through this.

Six days after he’d come back from the compound, he found himself walking toward Brooklyn. It was hot and humid, the sort of day where anyone with any sense stayed inside with the air conditioner running. He had half a bottle of water on him, and he hadn’t bothered to take any cash. He had the credit card that Tony had given him months ago, but it seemed stupid to use it to buy a two-dollar water in a bodega, so he just kept going. 

He’d been walking for maybe two hours when he stumbled upon a mugging. He was too late for Peter Parker to stop the guy; if he’d been out as Spiderman, he could have chased him down, but he couldn’t do it without calling too much attention to himself. But he helped the woman who’d been mugged get to the nearest police station, and she was grateful for that. 

“You okay, son?” one of the cops at the station asked him. “You want me to call your parents?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” he said. The joke was on them, anyway, since he didn’t have parents. He guessed he had May, but it didn’t feel like it very much, these days. 

“You sure?” the cop asked. “You look a little shaken up. Can I at least get you some water?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said, and left before anyone could ask any more intrusive questions. 

He kept walking, even as the day got hotter. By the time he looked up and realized he was across the street from Prospect Park, his head was pounding and he felt like there was no saliva left in his mouth at all. His shirt was soaked through with sweat. There was a McDonald’s across the street, but the idea of going in and buying something was overwhelming. He headed into the park. 

It wasn’t exactly quiet, given that it was a sunny afternoon in July, but it was better than the street had been. He sat down and pulled out his cell phone to let May know where he was, only to realize that it was dead. He’d forgotten to charge it last night.

“Great,” Peter muttered. “Good job, Parker.”

He needed to get up and find a Starbucks, where he could charge his phone and buy water and a sandwich, but he didn’t know the area at all, and he didn’t want to wander around in circles. He’d walked from Queens all the way to south Brooklyn almost without noticing, but he was suddenly exhausted. He was also so thirsty that his eyeballs felt gritty. 

“Peter?” 

Peter stiffened and turned. Bucky was standing about ten feet away, staring at him. “Hey,” Peter said. His voice came out in a croak. “What are you doing here?”

“I live near here,” Bucky said. “I try to get out and walk in the park when I don’t have any other reason to leave the house. Therapist’s suggestion. What are you doing here?”

Peter shrugged. He didn’t have a good reason for being there, after all. Bucky came and sat down at the other end of the bench. “How’d you get here?” Bucky asked, when Peter didn’t answer. 

“Walked.” 

“Walked? From Queens?” Bucky paused, and Peter could feel him looking at him––taking in his sweat-soaked shirt, probably, and the sunburn that Peter could feel reddening his face and neck. It’d be gone in an hour if he got out of the sun. “Does your aunt know where you are?”

Peter shrugged again. “She’s at work. And my phone’s dead.”

“I have a bad habit of letting that happen, too,” Bucky said. “Drives Steve nuts. If it’s a Starkphone, I’ve got a charger at home you can use. I also have water and food, and you look like you could use both.”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I think I’m familiar with that version of ‘okay.’ It’s the same ‘okay’ that Steve’s been giving me over the phone all week. Don’t be an idiot. Come sit on my sofa and drink some water. We can watch that baking show you and Steve love so damn much.”

Peter didn’t even know why he was resisting. He stood up and followed Bucky.

He did live nearby––right across the street from one of the pedestrian entrances to the park, in fact. It was a high security building, Peter realized as they came through the lobby. He guessed that made sense. Formerly brainwashed Hydra assassins couldn’t live just anywhere. He wondered suddenly if Tony owned the building. Did that mean that _Peter_ owned the building now? The idea made his head spin.

The AC was turned up pretty high in Bucky’s apartment, or maybe Peter was just so overheated that anything felt cool in comparison. Bucky handed him a glass of water from a Brita in the fridge, and Peter drained it in about five seconds flat. Bucky refilled it, and he drained that one, too. He refilled it one more time, and this time he only gulped down half before coming up for air. “Thanks,” he said in relief. 

“Let me get you the charger,” Bucky said. “You want some lunch? Sam introduced me to turkey sandwiches with brie and apples. I make fun of him for eating hipster shit, but goddamn if it isn’t delicious.”

Peter shrugged. “If you’ve got enough.”

“I definitely have enough. Go sit down.” 

He pushed Peter toward the living room. Peter sat on the couch and stared out the window. 

Bucky had a view of the park. He and May could move to an apartment like this now, Peter thought. One with security and a twenty-four hour doorman and a view and a new kitchen. They could’ve moved before––Tony had bugged May about it constantly––but she hadn’t wanted to take his charity. But now it wasn’t charity, it was just... Peter’s. 

His stomach hurt. That was what he got for drinking too much, too fast. 

Bucky came back with the charger. Peter plugged his phone in and dutifully texted May to let her know where he was, not that she would have noticed for another five or six hours. Bucky went into the kitchen to make lunch, and Peter was left alone to look around the living room. 

He didn’t know Bucky very well, since Bucky wasn’t a full time Avenger, and he didn’t spend much time at the compound. They’d fought together a couple of times, and sometimes he came to team gatherings, where he mostly talked to Steve and Sam and Natasha. Peter had never expected to be sitting in his apartment. 

It was simply furnished, and there wasn’t much in the way of decor. There was the sofa, an armchair, and a coffee table. Two doors off the living room led to bedrooms, and one to a bathroom. Peter used the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, then came back out to sit on the sofa again. 

There was a funny looking machine sitting on top of the coffee table, Peter noticed. He leaned forward, frowning at it. It was a cylinder with a clear plastic tube coming out of it. He picked it up and turned it around. Then he read a warning label on the side of it and abruptly realized what he was looking at. He set it down hastily, even though he knew he couldn’t break a lifetime of saying no to drugs just by handling a marijuana vaporizer.

He was still eyeing it warily when Bucky came back, plates in hand. “Thanks,” Peter muttered, accepting the sandwich.

“So,” Bucky said, as soon as Peter had a mouthful of food, “you seem like you’re doing about as well as Steve has been.”

Peter shrugged. 

“That was sarcasm, in case it wasn’t clear. Steve isn’t doing well at all.”

Peter chewed and swallowed, then drank some water. “I’m dealing with it.”

“By walking all over the city until you end up dehydrated and on the verge of heat exhaustion?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten heat exhaustion.”

“You were red as a tomato when I saw you in the park,” Bucky replied. “You’re lucky I recognized you.”

Peter gave a one-shouldered shrug. “What am I supposed to do, just sit in the apartment and stare at the walls? May’s not there. All my friends are gone for the month. I should’ve stayed at the compound, but I didn’t want Steve to feel like he had to babysit me. And I didn’t...” Peter swallowed. Somehow, despite all the water, his throat still felt dry. “I didn’t know how bad it would be until I was in it.”

Bucky snorted. “Aren’t you and Steve a pair. You’re here because you didn’t want him to feel he had to babysit you, and he’s there because he doesn’t want me to feel like I have to babysit him. You’re so like him, it’s crazy.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t as much of a compliment as you think,” Bucky said dryly. He took a big bite of his sandwich, as though in punctuation. 

Peter ate some more of his own. He was starting to feel a little better, enough to feel stupid about all of this. He should be able to take care of himself. He’d been an idiot, and it could’ve been worse than it was. 

He made it through half his sandwich before he started to feel kind of sick. He put it down on the plate and set the plate on the table.

“Listen,” Bucky said, when he finished his sandwich. “Why don’t you let me call Steve and ask him to come down? I think it’d be good for both of you.”

Peter shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not, and neither is he,” Bucky said. “Believe me, I know what ‘not okay’ looks like. I see it in the mirror most mornings.”

“Is that why you smoke pot?” Peter asked, looking up at him. 

If Peter had expected Bucky to be defensive, he was disappointed. “Yep,” Bucky said. “I’ve got a medical card and everything. You want to see it?”

“No,” Peter said, abashed. “Um. Sorry.”

Bucky shrugged. “I get that people are weird about it these days. But it’s the only thing that helps with the anxiety and the PTSD, so I’m not going to waste time worrying about what other people think.”

“Really?” Peter said. “It helps?”

“Most days, yeah,” Bucky said. “I seem to burn through everything else, including the stuff you take. Is it still working for you?”

“It was. Not as well lately.” Peter eyed the vaporizer. The only time he’d been high was when he’d gotten a too-large dose of super soldier painkiller when he’d had the flu. It hadn’t been a lot of fun. But maybe this was different. “Can I try it?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. “Steve would kill me,” he finally said, which was not a no. 

“Steve isn’t my dad,” Peter replied. “And I'm eighteen. Besides, you just said––”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said, making a face. “All right. But you have to swear to me that you won’t go out and try and buy some from someone selling it in Prospect Park or something stupid like that. If this works for you, we’ll talk to Banner and get you a card, figure out what exactly you need and the right dosage. Too much isn’t good for brains that are still developing, and I’m not going to be responsible for screwing with yours. Pretty sure it’s the best brain we have.”

Peter nodded. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, and sat down on the floor to start fiddling with the vaporizer. Peter pulled his feet up onto the sofa and looked out the window, not paying much attention. He felt weighed down. Maybe Bucky was right about the heat exhaustion. He drank some more water and pressed the glass against his forehead. 

He wondered idly what Tony would’ve had to say about Peter trying pot. After the fiasco with him taking away the suit, Tony had almost never told Peter not to do something; instead, he’d tried to help him be as smart and safe as possible while he made his own decisions. He probably wouldn’t have told him not to, but he might’ve wanted to be there. Just to make sure he was safe. 

“This stuff is fairly potent and it hits you fast,” Bucky said, drawing Peter’s attention back to him, “so you’re going to start with one hit. We’ll see what that does. Breathe in, hold it for a couple beats, and then let it go.”

Peter took the mouthpiece from him and took a drag. There was no smoke, which he guessed was the point of a vaporizer. He held it briefly and then breathed it out. 

“Good,” Bucky said. “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just a little dizzy.” Peter watched as Bucky took two hits and then wrapped the tube around the machine. He got up and joined Peter on the sofa. 

“How’d you start?” Peter asked, even as things started to go a little fuzzy around the edges. 

“In Wakanda,” Bucky said. “After they took me off the ice, they did a lot to fix my brain, but even they have their limits. It’s a common treatment there for chronic pain, anxiety, PTSD––all kinds of things. I was pretty annoyed when I realized how much harder it is to get here.”

“Mmm.”

“You okay?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah, that’s... wow.” Peter blinked. “It’s like when my meds work the way they’re supposed to, only better. And I feel kind of tingly. Not sure I’d want to web sling, but it’s... nice.” It was the best he’d felt since Bruce had shown up at his door, if he was honest. And he could think that without any accompanying pang of guilt, too. Tony wouldn’t have wanted him to feel bad all the time. Tony would’ve been worried if he could see how badly Peter was spiraling. 

“Nice is good,” Bucky said. “Nice is where we want to stay.” He tucked the vaporizer under the table and used the remote to the turn on the TV. He put on _Bake-off_ , as promised, and Peter sank into the sofa cushions. It was a _really_ comfortable sofa. Better even than the one in the common area of the compound. Bucky handed him the rest of his sandwich, and Peter bit into it absently. The apples crunched satisfyingly, and the brie was creamy. The tang of the honey mustard was fascinating. 

Yeah, this was _nothing_ like getting accidentally stoned on super soldier painkiller while running a fever. 

Bucky’s phone started buzzing. Bucky glanced at it and then answered it. “Hey Steve,” he said. “You’ll never guess who’s sitting with me right now. I’ll give you a hint––he walked to Brooklyn from Queens on a ninety-five degree day.” Bucky listened briefly, smirked, and then held the phone out to Peter. He muted the TV. 

Peter took it without hesitation. He knew he’d been kind of avoiding Steve but it was hard to remember why. He missed Steve. Steve was one of the few people who understood. “Hi Steve.”

“You walked to Brooklyn from Queens on the hottest day of the year? _Why?_ ”

Peter frowned. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Nothing else to do, I guess. I was really lonely. May was at work and MJ and Ned are both gone. Dr. Gates told me that I could go out and help people as Peter Parker, not just Spiderman, so I have been. But I probably should’ve brought more water.”

“Jesus,” Steve said. “You’re lucky you ended up at Bucky’s.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Peter sucked in a breath. “It’s just awful, you know? I mean, I knew it would be awful. But it’s even worse than I expected, it’s... it’s worse than it was with Ben. I’m so lonely, Steve,” he confessed. 

“You could’ve just called me, you know,” Steve said. “I could’ve come down early.”

Peter sighed. “Don’t want you to think you have to babysit me.”

“I don’t think that,” Steve said. “We talked about this, remember? You’re not bothering me, and I’m not bothering you. Am I?”

“No. But I’m a mess. Not fair for you to have to deal with that.”

“I’m a mess, too, Peter,” Steve said gently. 

“I’m having screaming nightmares,” Peter said. “Like, twice a night.”

“Is this a contest? Because I cried myself to sleep last night. Again.”

“Oh,” Peter said, surprised. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“It is what it is,” Steve replied, sounding resigned.

“Yeah.” Peter swallowed. “I miss you. I wish I’d stayed up at the compound.”

“Oh Peter,” Steve sighed. “I miss you, too. Are you okay? I mean, right now? I know you’re with Bucky, so you’re safe, but are you... okay?”

“Yeah. The pot helps.” Beside him, Bucky groaned. 

“The _what_ helps?” Steve said sharply. 

“Just had one hit. I’m not _really_ high. Just fuzzy. And tingly.”

Steve was silent briefly. “Is that why you actually wanted to talk to me? Because you’re high?”

“No,” Peter said. “I always want to talk to you. S’just hard sometimes, and it’s easier right now.”

“Right,” Steve said. He was silent again for a while. Peter lost track of how long, resting his head on the sofa cushion. “I’m going to come down this afternoon. I was going to be there in two days anyway, but I really want to see you sooner. Is that okay? It’ll take me probably three hours to get to Brooklyn.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Yeah, that sounds really good.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Pass me back to Bucky?”

Peter handed the phone back to Bucky, who accepted it with a long suffering sigh. “Get the lecture over with, Stevie,” he said, and paused, listening. He raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, could you say that again? I don’t hear it that often.” He smiled. “Okay. Drive safe, you reckless asshole.” 

“Is he mad?” Peter asked.

“No, actually,” Bucky said. He sat down on the sofa. “How are you doing?”

“Good. Kinda sleepy.” Peter yawned. 

“Take a nap,” Bucky said. “Even with the way Steve drives, it’ll be a few hours before he gets here. Thai food for dinner okay?”

Peter hummed his agreement. Thai food sounded fine to him. 

He fell into the best kind of afternoon nap, on a comfortable sofa, in a place he felt safe, with nowhere to be. Every once in a while he’d open his eyes and see that the TV was still on. Bucky liked _Star Trek_ , it seemed. Peter thought about asking him to put on the Tribbles episode, but it seemed like a lot of work to open his mouth and form words and sentences. He didn’t really care that much. He closed his eyes again and fell back to sleep. 

When he woke again, he could hear low voices, and then the front door opened and closed. Peter felt the couch dip at the other end, and he opened his eyes to see Steve sitting there, drinking a glass of water and looking at his phone. 

“Hey.” Peter sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

“Hey,” Steve replied, setting his phone down. “How are you feeling? Bucky said you were out for hours.”

“Yeah.” Peter leaned into Steve, and Steve took the hint, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I was really tired.”

“You said you’ve been having nightmares.”

Peter snuggled into Steve’s side. “Bad ones. And May never hears me. S’not her fault, she just sleeps deep. Ben was always the one who woke up if I was sick or scared in the middle of the night.” Peter sighed. “Tony had FRIDAY tell him. Wake him up.”

“I know.”

“I always felt kind of embarrassed when he came in, but then he’d sit with me until I could go back to sleep, or we’d go down to the workshop.”

Steve made a wordless noise. Peter pressed closer. Steve was surprisingly cuddly for someone who was nothing but muscle all the way through.

“Where’s Bucky?” Peter asked.

“He went to pick up Thai food. He said it might take a little while.”

Peter nodded and buried his face in Steve’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming down.”

Steve sighed. “I wanted to, anyway. I realized pretty soon after you left that I’d made a mistake by staying, but I was too stubborn to admit it. And I don’t like feeling like I’m a burden,”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Same. On, like, all of that. But you’re not a burden. Not to me and I’m sure not to Bucky.”

“I know. Bucky says I’m dysfunctionally independent.”

“Yeah. I get that. But my therapist says you have to ask for help and trust that the people who matter will say yes.”

“Is that what you were doing by walking from Queens to Brooklyn?”

“Not consciously,” Peter said. “But I’m not sorry that it worked out like this.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, arm tightening around him. “Me neither.”

Peter hesitated. “Are you mad about the pot?” 

“No,” Steve said. “I’m not mad. I am a little... concerned. I talked to Bruce before I came down. He says it works for a lot of people with your issues, and he thinks it’s worth looking into. But we both have the same worries about you—well, he called it ‘self-medicating.’ It’s a slippery slope. One that I know Tony slid pretty far down after his parents died. It took him years to recover.”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a sigh. “I’m not sure I could go to school like that. It made me pretty fuzzy and tired.” Not to mention overly honest. Peter didn’t regret it, exactly, but he did feel a pang of embarrassment when he thought about what he’d said to Steve on the phone. Even now, he knew—distantly, in a way that didn’t matter much—that he wouldn’t be glommed onto Steve like this if he weren’t still a little high. Not that Steve seemed to mind.

Steve smoothed a hand over Peter’s hair. “No one would blame you for wanting to feel better, after everything you’ve been through, and I know it helps Buck a lot. I just want us to be careful that it doesn’t become its own problem, you know?”

Peter nodded. “Dr. Gates says any coping mechanism can become unhealthy.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise. And, um. Thanks for coming all this way.”

“I wanted to come.” Steve swallowed, and Peter could feel him hesitating. “I think—I think if Tony had to die, he’d want you and me to be there for each other. I want that, too.”

“Me too,” Peter murmured. “It’s just—it’s hard for some reason. Most of the time. I don’t want to lay all my stuff on you when you’ve got just as much to deal with.”

“I appreciate that, but I worry about you whether you tell me things or not,” Steve said. “And it’s... it’s not fair of _me_ to lay my stuff on you, either, but I feel less alone when we talk.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “I do, too. That’s, um. That’s good to know.” 

Curling up against Steve didn’t quite feel like curling up against Tony; Steve was bigger and there was no nanobot casing for him to bump up against. But his arm was still strong around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter still felt safer than he had in days. 

“Can we watch the first _Lord of the Rings_?” Peter asked. 

“Sure,” Steve said, and picked up the remote to turn on the TV.

Bucky returned with Thai food—red and green curry, pad Thai, the eggplant thing May always ordered. They ate while watching Fellowship, as the summer sky darkened outside. By the time the movie finished, it was late. Too late to start _Two Towers_ if Peter was going to go home.

He didn’t want to go home. 

It felt like a horrible thing to admit, even to himself. Home was lonely, and it felt like it was really far away from here, even though it wasn’t. Peter didn’t know how to tell Steve without sounding and feeling awful. If he’d still been stoned, he probably could’ve just said it, but it’d worn off completely right around the time the fellowship left Rivendale.

“Are you staying or going?” Bucky asked matter-of-factly as they cleaned up from dinner. “Either way is fine. You and Steve can flip for the couch and the guest room.”

“Steve gets the guest room,” Peter said automatically, then caught himself. “I should call May, though.”

He ducked into the guest room and sat on the bed. May picked up after three rings. “Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi,” Peter said, picking at the guest room quilt. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting,” she said. “I got Indian for dinner, but I assume Bucky fed you.”

“Yeah, we got Thai food after Steve came down.”

“Steve came down?” 

“Yeah, this afternoon.” Peter bit his lip, wondering why this was so hard. It wasn’t like May was going to _know_ that he didn’t want to go home. She wouldn’t be upset if he spent the night in Brooklyn. She might even be relieved. “Do you mind if I stay over here tonight? We’ve got kind of a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon going.”

“Oh––no, of course that’s fine. You’re doing all right?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, May.”

“No problem, kiddo. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t,” Peter said and hung up. He went out to the living room and announced, “Staying.”

Steve smiled at him like he’d made the right decision. Peter sat on the sofa beside him, and when Bucky pulled the vaporizer out and offered it to Peter, he nodded. Peter took a single hit, Bucky took two, and they sat on either side of Steve, both leaning on him.

“It’s like having a couple of cats,” Steve said, wrapping an arm around each of them. He didn’t sound mad about it, though. In fact, he almost sounded like he was smiling. Peter tucked his head against Steve’s shoulder and watched the movie.

***

Peter fell asleep right in the middle of the Battle of Helm’s Deep, and he didn’t even wake up when Steve slid out from underneath him and straightened him out. He sighed and rolled over, burrowing into the back of the sofa. Steve spread a blanket out out over him. 

“I think he’s exhausted,” Steve said, straightening up. “He told me he’s having nightmares.”

“I heard,” Bucky said. “What about you? How’re you doing, Steve?”

Steve rubbed his eyes tiredly. “People keep asking me that. I’m never sure what they want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to be honest with me.”

Steve stood for a moment, looking down at Peter. “The worst part of my day,” he finally said, “and it’s all pretty terrible right now, but the worst part is when I lie down to go to sleep, and I feel the side of the bed that’s empty and cold. All I can think about is that he’ll never be there again, and it just _hurts_.” Steve’s voice broke. He covered his face with his hand. 

“Okay,” Bucky said. “I can help with that.”

“What?” Steve said, even as Bucky steered him into the bedroom. 

“Change into your pajamas,” Bucky said, and pulled a pair of his own out from top drawer of the dresser. 

“What are you––”

“We used to a share a bed all the time, Stevie. My memory’s like Swiss cheese, but I remember that well enough. I remember sharing a bed with you when you were sick, or when it was cold, or when one of us had a nightmare, or just because we wanted to.”

“We were kids,” Steve said, not sure why he was objecting when he wanted what Bucky was offering so badly. 

“So what?” Bucky replied. “I know we’ve both changed a whole hell of a lot. We’re not the same people we were back then. But this isn’t any different to me. If it is for you, that’s okay, and you can go sleep in the guest room, like we planned. But don’t feel like you have to put up some kind of front for my sake.”

Rendered mute by a dizzying combination of gratitude and grief, Steve stared at him. Bucky gazed back steadily, until finally Steve nodded. 

They changed into pajamas and brushed their teeth at the sink in the small master bathroom. Then they climbed into bed, Steve on the right and Bucky on the left, and Bucky turned off the light. It still wasn’t totally dark––there was ambient light coming in through the curtains from the street––and when Steve turned his head, he could see Bucky looking at him from just a few inches away. 

“You want to stay over there or do you want me to hold you?” Bucky asked, voice carefully even.

“Hold me,” Steve whispered, ashamed even though he knew he shouldn’t be. 

Bucky moved over and wrapped an arm around Steve’s chest. Steve rolled onto his side so his back was to Bucky, and brought his hand up to press Bucky’s against his chest. He drew a shuddering breath, and Bucky made a wordless noise of sympathy. “It’s okay,” he murmured, the words muffled against Steve’s shoulder blade. “It’s you and me, remember?”

“End of the line,” Steve managed. 

“Damn right,” Bucky said. “I love you, you punk. I don’t know what you were thinking, thinking I’d ever find you a burden. I’ve never thought that, not once in our whole lives.”

“I’m just so tired of grieving,” Steve said. “It’s exhausting.”

“I know it is,” Bucky said. “So you’ll stay here with me, let me handle some of it, all right?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, too tired to muster up an argument. “I think Wakanda would be a good idea if Peter wants to go. I can’t leave him. He’s barely keeping his head above water, and...” Steve’s voice cracked. “And making sure Peter is okay is the only thing left I can do for Tony. So I have to.”

“Shh,” Bucky said, tightening his grip on him. “We’ll both make sure Peter is okay. You don’t have to handle that on your own, either. He’s got his aunt, too, and Bruce. None of this is yours to shoulder on your own, you got that?” He gave Steve a little shake. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah. I do.”

It still wasn’t easy to fall asleep, but it was better to lie awake with Bucky holding him than alone in his bed at the compound. He was sad, but he didn’t feel crushed beneath a mountain of loneliness and grief. Bucky was there to take some of the weight. Steve had convinced himself that it wouldn’t help, that it would only double the misery, but he’d been wrong. It did help, and Bucky was strong enough to take it. 

He slept the whole night through. There was early morning light, gray and watery, filtering in the window when he opened his eyes. It was a little after six in the morning. Bucky was still wrapped around him like an octopus, and Steve really had to pee. 

He managed to extricate himself. Bucky rolled over, grumbling, and shoved his head under the pillow. Steve used the ensuite and thought about going back to bed. But the faint smell of coffee let him know that he wasn’t the only one awake, as early was it was. 

Peter was sitting at the breakfast bar, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He looked tired and thin in his t-shirt and boxers, but he nodded when Steve asked if he could sit with him. “Did you sleep all right?” Steve asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“For a few hours,” Peter said. “I woke up about four and couldn’t get back to sleep, though.”

“Nightmares?”

“No. Not last night.” Peter glanced toward the closed door to the master bedroom. “How did you sleep?”

“Not bad. Better than I have been.”

“That’s good,” Peter said, but he looked awkward, glancing up and then back down at his coffee, as though he wasn’t sure what to say. Steve was a little puzzled, until he realized all at once what the issue was. 

“Peter, Bucky and I aren’t like that,” Steve said gently. “We never have been.”

Peter shrugged, mouth in a tense line. “It’s not my business. If you––I’m not––”

“Peter,” Steve said, “I swear to you, that’s not why I was in Bucky’s room. I told him I’ve been having trouble sleeping because the bed is empty and cold, so he offered to let me sleep next to him, to see if it helped. That’s all. We’ve known each other for so long, and we’re comfortable with each other. He’s my family.”

Peter nodded, staring down at his coffee. “Okay. Thanks. I just... it’s barely been ten days, and I know it’s not my business, but the idea that you might’ve... might’ve moved on...”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever move on, to be honest.” 

Peter looked like he wasn’t sure what to say to that. Finally he went with, “May said sleeping alone was hard, too. After—after Ben. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You didn’t assume,” Steve pointed out. “You wondered, and I don’t blame you for that.” He took a sip of his coffee, then cleared his throat. “Do you have things to do today?”

“Yeah, my phone just reminded me I have an appointment with my therapist this morning.”

“In Queens?”

“No, in Midtown. But I should go home first, change my clothes and stuff.” Peter sounded reluctant, and Steve recalled the way he’d dragged his feet on leaving the night before. There was something going on there, but Steve couldn’t imagine what it was. He and his aunt had always seemed so close. “Maybe... maybe we could hang out afterward? I’ll be done by noon, I could come back.”

“Sure. I think it’s going to rain all day,” Steve said, glancing outside. “So maybe a museum?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Would May like to come?” Steve asked, a little cautiously. 

Peter shrugged. “I think she’s going to be at work.”

“Maybe for dinner, then.”

“Maybe,” Peter said, sounding doubtful. “She’s been working long hours at SI. Helping Pepper with things.”

Steve frowned. “Does she know that bothers you?”

Peter glanced at him sharply. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. 

Peter bit his lip. “No,” he admitted. “I think it’s how she’s coping. And Pepper needs her. And it’s... technically SI is mine now, and it’s not like I’m doing anything to help, so I should be grateful that May is. I just... I miss her. She’s barely been home at all, and when she is, she’s really tired.” He swallowed. “It’s stupid to be upset about it.”

“It’s not stupid. You shouldn’t be on your own right now.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s fine.” He slid off the stool. “I’m going to get dressed. Can you drive me home to change? I’ll take the subway into the city.”

“Sure,” Steve said, and watched him gather up the pile of clothes from yesterday and take them into the guest room. 

He got dressed himself and borrowed Bucky’s car keys—he _still_ wasn’t up, the lazy lump—to drive Peter back to the apartment. Peter cast a longing look at the bike, parked next to the car in the underground garage of Bucky’s building. 

“It’s no fun in the city,” Steve said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you up the Hudson sometime.”

“Okay,” Peter said, and climbed into the passenger seat. 

May wasn’t home when they got to the apartment. Peter tried to hide it, but he was visibly disappointed. He packed a small bag, not unlike Steve’s duffel, and handed it to him. “I’ll come back to Brooklyn afterward.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to drive you to the appointment?” 

Peter shook his head. “It’ll take twice as long as the subway. Thanks, though.”

Peter let them out and locked up. He looked at his watch and swore. “I’m going to be late. I’ll see you after,” he told Steve and ran down the rest of the stairs and out the door. 

Outside, the rain had worsened, and the air was heavy and thick with humidity. Steve sat in the car, listening to the sound of the rain on the roof, wrestling with himself. May might not like him sticking his nose in, he finally decided, but if something happened and she found out he’d had information and decided not to share, it’d be much worse for everyone.

She picked up on the third ring. “Steve? Is everything okay?”

It hadn’t occurred to him that a call from him would be so worrying, but it made sense under the circumstances. “Everything’s fine,” he assured her. “Peter got off to his therapy appointment okay.”

”Dammit, I meant to text and remind him.”

“His phone reminded him.”

“Good, good,” she said. “Look, I’m swamped—everyone here is a mess and the answer to a frightening number of questions in R&D was, ‘Ask Tony, he’ll know,’ so if it isn’t an emergency—”

“It is, kind of,” Steve said. “I mean––everything’s fine, but I thought you should know.”

“Thought I should know what?”

“Peter walked from Queens to Brooklyn yesterday in ninety-five degree heat with no water. He ran into Bucky by chance in the park and everything turned out fine, but that was pure luck. I’m worried about him, and I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on.”

“Oh,” May said, sounding startled. “Yes, thank you. Did he tell you why?”

“I don’t think he had a conscious reason. Near as I can tell, he’s lonely and bored and grieving. He said his friends are all out of town.” Steve hesitated briefly. “It sounds like you’re working long hours at SI. He, um. He packed a bag, thinking he might stay with Bucky and me for a bit. We’re both okay with that, if it would help.”

“Help whom?” May asked, tone sharpening. “Peter? Me? Or help _you_ , Steve?”

“I didn’t suggest that he do it,” Steve said, struggling not to match her tone. “I just want what’s best for him.”

“And I do appreciate that,” she said, sounding as though she meant exactly the opposite. “But I’ve been looking after him for a long time now. Even if I am working long hours, I know what’s best for him.”

“Do you?” Steve replied. “Because he clearly isn’t getting what he needs at home.”

He knew immediately that he had gone too far, but he couldn’t take the words back. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “You don’t know what it’s like, trying to take care of a child and grieve at the same time––”

“Actually, I do know what that’s like,” Steve replied, losing his even tone altogether. “Or have you forgotten why I’m the one calling you in the first place?”

There was a startled silence. “I’m sorry,” May finally said, sounding much less sharp. “I’m so used to––to people not understanding. I know that you’re just trying to help. I’ll talk to Peter, but he’s seemed like he’s doing as well as could be expected.”

Steve only just managed not to growl in frustration. “May, I’m trying to tell you that he’s _not_. He didn’t want to go home last night. He’s having nightmares. He can barely eat anything. And he feels very alone.”

“Do you think I’ve been neglecting him?” May asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Steve winced. “No, not––I don’t think you’re doing it on purpose. But I think you’ve been keeping busy. I understand that there’s a lot to do at SI, and Peter knows that you’re helping both Pepper and him by doing it. But I don’t think he needs you to do that as much as he needs you to be with him.”

May didn’t say anything. Neither did Steve. He let the silence stretch for longer than he was comfortable with, to give her time to think.

At last, May sighed. “It’s been hard to go through this again,” she admitted. “To watch Peter go through it again. He’s been saying he’s fine and acting like he’s fine, and I’ve just... I wanted to believe him.”

Steve slumped a little in relief. He hadn’t realized how rigidly he’d been holding himself, afraid that May might, in a fit of anger and defensiveness, tell him he couldn’t see Peter anymore. He was eighteen, so it really wasn't her call, but it would have caused problems. “Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?” he suggested. “I think we’re going to go to a museum this afternoon. We could meet you after work.”

“I think that’ll work. I had something scheduled, but Pepper will understand,” May said. “Just let me know where.”

“I will,” Steve said. “Thanks, May.”

May disconnected rather abruptly. Steve sat, holding the phone and staring at the rain coming down the windshield—he _had_ wished for the weather to be more reflective of his internal state, hadn’t he?—until his phone buzzed with a message from Bucky. 

_If you’re going to steal my car, at least bring me Starbucks. Vanilla latte, whole milk, two shots caramel._

Steve rolled his eyes, feeling a stab of irritation that was almost normal. Now he had to find a Starbucks in Brooklyn _with parking_. He might as well drive to Long Island.

Peter was subdued when he got back from therapy. He gave monosyllabic answers to Steve’s questions and picked at his lunch. He’d been enthused enough about a museum that morning, but by the time they actually left the apartment, he seemed more resigned than anything else. 

He perked up slowly over the afternoon they spent wandering around the Brooklyn Museum. Steve was more interested in the art than either Peter or Bucky was, but that wasn’t really the point, so much as to get them all out of the apartment and give them something else to think about. 

“What do you want to do for dinner?” Steve asked during a break at the museum’s café. He didn’t expect to get much of an answer, seeing as how Peter hadn’t been eating much unless he was high. 

To his pleasant surprise, Peter actually gave it some thought. “Shake Shack?” he finally suggested. “Would that be okay?”

“More than okay,” Steve said, and pulled out his phone to find the nearest Shake Shack and text the location to May. He didn’t say anything about it to Peter, mostly because he didn’t want to risk the fallout if she wasn’t able to make it for some reason. 

It had finally stopped raining when they emerged from the museum, so they decided to walk to the restaurant. Steve deliberately dawdled, giving May time to get there from Manhattan. He still thought they’d get there first, but when they were about a block away, Peter glanced up and said, “Is that May?”

She was leaning against a bus stop bench, waiting for them. Peter sped up, almost running, and threw himself at her. She caught him, squeezing him tight. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pulling away to look at her. “I thought you’d have to work.”

“It might’ve been brought to my attention that I was working too much,” she said, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “Pepper agreed. She told me she doesn’t want to see me again before Monday.”

Peter looked down at his shoes and scuffed his toe on the pavement. “It’s okay. I get why you’re working a lot, there’s a lot to do.”

“There is, but it can all wait a couple of days.” May nodded toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”

It was on the early side for dinner, and not as crowded as it could have been. May and Peter told Steve and Bucky what they wanted and went to snag a table while they stood in line. Steve watched the two of them sitting together, bumping shoulders. Peter was smiling faintly, leaning into May. 

“Was that your doing?” Bucky asked. Steve shrugged. “You never could resist sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong.”

“It did belong in there,” Steve replied, frowning. “Peter was miserable, and I knew May would’ve wanted to know.” Peter was showing May something on his phone––probably pictures of the feminist art wing of the museum. “Tony would’ve done the same.”

“Are you sure about that?” Bucky asked. 

“Yes,” Steve said, certain of it. “Though he might’ve been more diplomatic than I was. He always was better at people than me.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Bucky said. They were nearly to the front of the line now. “Just... be careful. This seems to have worked out okay, but things are kind of volatile right now. Everyone is struggling.”

It was time to order, so Steve didn’t get to respond. He thought about it while they placed an order for an absurd number of burgers for the three of them with enhanced metabolisms, plus a chicken burger for May and six orders of fries with cheese sauce. Bucky got beers for himself and May and carried them back to the table, returning with Peter to help carry the food once it came. 

Bucky ducked into the bathroom while they were waiting for the food, leaving Peter and Steve alone. A few seconds went by in silence, and then Peter coughed. “You didn’t have to call her, you know,” he said. “I was doing okay. I was taking care of myself.”

He hadn’t been, but Steve knew better than to say so. “You shouldn’t need to. And I knew that if May found out that I knew that you were suffering and didn’t say something, she’d be really angry at me. And rightfully so.”

Peter heaved a sigh, looking down. “Tony never liked keeping secrets from her, either. Not after she found out about the really big one. He said they were both on my team, and the only way for the team to work was to be honest with each other.”

“Yes,” Steve said, relieved. “That’s exactly right. And you’re not... mad, are you?”

Peter shrugged. “I kind of want to be. But if you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve just kept not seeing much of her. Might’ve even seen her less, since I would’ve been at your place all the time. Um.” He hesitated. Steve could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You didn’t call her because I was being too clingy, did you? I thought it was okay for me to be at Bucky’s. You said you liked being around me.”

“I do,” Steve said quickly. “I do, Peter. But I didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t go home. And these things, they tend to fester if you don’t do something about them.”

Peter nodded, looking down again. “Okay. As long as you’re not sick of me.”

“Never,” Steve said, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter rested his head briefly on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve felt a wave of protectiveness wash over him. 

He’d felt something like it before––Peter hadn’t been his, but he had been Tony’s, and that was enough for Steve to want to protect him, to the extent that it was possible. He felt then that something had changed. Tony was gone. And maybe Peter _was_ his now, in a way. They’d never have the same relationship Peter and Tony had had, but that was okay, Steve realized. He didn’t have to replace Tony. He just had to be there. 

It felt like one last gift from someone who had already given him so much. 

His hand must have tightened on Peter’s shoulder, because he looked up at Steve. “Hey, you okay?” Peter asked, nudging him. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. I’m okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to Fuzzyboo for beta reading this in the middle of the night and pointing out the problems with my sightlines in the last scene. 
> 
> This chapter contains spoilers for the musical _Hamilton_ ––just the soundtrack, I don't think I give away anything about the stage production. Originally I was going to have them go see _Come from Away_ , which I think is a very Steve musical, but then I realized that 1) I don't know it as well, 2) y'all probably wouldn't know it as well, and 3) _Hamilton_ is super thematically on-point for this story. Also, I cried my way through the second half of the second act not long after my friend died. 
> 
> In case you'd like to listen while reading, I recommend in particular: "Wait for It," "Quiet Uptown," and "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?" And throw "Burn" in there, too, because why not.

Peter went home with May after dinner. She looked like she really wanted him with her, and Steve had Bucky, so Peter felt okay about it. He and Steve made plans to meet up before _Hamilton_ the next day, and then May and Peter caught a Lyft back to Queens.

There’d been a time, not that long ago, when a $25 ride between Brooklyn and Queens would have been an unthinkable luxury. Things had been a lot more comfortable since May had started her job at SI, but now there was no reason to even think twice about it. It was really weird, and it still made Peter feel sick when he thought about it too much. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to being rich, and he couldn’t imagine he’d ever stop wishing he could have Tony back instead.

The first few minutes of the ride were noticeably quiet. Peter was tired, and it was easier to text with Ned than it was to figure out what to say to May. 

Finally, May cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home much.”

“Oh,” Peter said, glancing at her. She wasn’t really looking at him. “It’s––it’s okay. I get it. Pepper needs your help.”

“She does, but I don’t want you to feel neglected, and I think maybe you have been feeling that way? A little?”

Peter stared out the window, uncertain about how much he should say. She wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t want her to feel bad about it. She was doing her best, he was sure. It wasn’t her fault that it wasn’t exactly what he needed. He finally settled on, “It’s okay.”

“It doesn’t seem like it is, if I’m getting calls from Steve about you walking from Queens to Brooklyn because you’re lonely and bored.” 

Peter flushed. “I just lost track of time, that’s all. Everyone’s making such a big deal out of nothing. I’m fine.”

“Sweetie, no one expects you to be fine right now,” May said, reaching out to put a hand on his wrist. “And I really am sorry that I haven’t been home. I’ll try to get home a little earlier, so we can at least have dinner together, all right?”

Peter nodded. He turned his hand over so he could hold May’s. “Okay. I’d really like that.”

May squeezed his hand. “Want to watch a movie tonight? You pick. I promise I’ll stay awake this time.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, voice cracking a little. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Good,” May said. She went quiet for a minute or two, and Peter relaxed, thinking they were done. But then she said, “You and Steve seem like you’re getting pretty close.”

There was something in the way she said it that made him tense up again, though he couldn’t have said what it was. “Yeah. He’s been really great. And it helps to know that he’s going through something similar. I think I help him just as much as he helps me, you know?”

“Mmm. It can be a lot, though. Helping someone at the same time you’re trying to help yourself.”

“I... um. What are you saying?” Peter asked, feeling stung by the sudden turn in the conversation. 

“Nothing,” she said, glancing at him. “Just––make sure you give Steve enough space, all right?”

“He said he likes having me around,” Peter said in a small voice. There was a growing sense of unease in his stomach, making him kind of nauseous. “He said I remind him of Tony in a good way. I asked him if I was being too clingy, and he said no. Did––did he say something to you?”

“No, honey,” May said. “No. I’m just saying, you should be careful not to lean on him too hard. And you shouldn’t let him lean too hard on you, either. You’re both going through a lot. It’s not your job to take care of him.”

“But I like that he’s honest with me,” Peter said. “It makes me feel––I don’t know. Useful, I guess.”

May didn’t reply. Peter bit his lip, sure that they were both thinking back to the days after Ben’s death, all the secrets and lies and silences, the times when neither of them had known what to say to the other. 

They’d come out the other side closer than ever but the truth was that they’d struggled at the time. Peter had been guilt-stricken in addition to being grief-stricken, and he’d been hiding so much from her––the fact that he had super powers, the fact that he’d been there when Ben died. He’d barely been able to look May in the eye most days. 

For her part, May had tried her best to keep Peter from seeing how bad things were for her. He’d seen anyway, because he wasn’t stupid, but she hadn’t wanted to let him help. He thought that maybe she’d thought that would make him feel safer, but instead, it had just made him feel more alone. He wasn’t sure she understood that, and he didn’t know how to say it without it sounding like he was telling her she’d done something wrong. 

“All I’m saying is that you should be careful,” she finally said, when they were nearly home. “I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt if Steve doesn’t want to hang out as much as you do, and I don’t want him to depend on you for things he shouldn’t.”

“We’re fine,” Peter said, trying not to sound upset, even though he kind of was. “Don’t worry about it.”

May looked over at him then and reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear. “Sorry, sweetie. I have to worry about you. Occupational hazard.”

Peter managed a smile. It felt fake, but it must have worked, because she smiled back, looking relieved. 

The evening got better from there, to his relief. May didn’t say anything more about Steve or her hours at SI. They changed into pajamas and made popcorn; instead of a movie, they ended up watching episodes of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. It was May’s favorite, and Peter had watched it so much growing up that it was one of his favorites, too. They stuck to the funny episodes, leaning against each other on the sofa and giggling, eating out of the same bowl of popcorn, and ended with a musical episode singalong. It’d been too long since they’d done that, Peter thought. It left him feeling almost okay. 

Which made the nightmare about falling through space all the more shocking. 

He woke up screaming and crying at the same time, breathless and choking on sobs. It was a horrible feeling, and he lay there for long minutes, breathing hard and praying that May might hear and come check on him. She didn’t.

It was 3:32 in the morning. Peter curled up in a ball in his bed, thinking about what May had said about giving Steve enough space. But Peter had been giving Steve a lot of space, and Steve had _told_ him he should give him less. Steve had _told_ him not to worry about bothering him. Peter reached out a shaky hand for his phone. 

_You awake?_ he sent to Steve.

 _Yes_ , Steve wrote back immediately. _Can’t sleep?_

 _Nightmare_ , Peter admitted. _I’m falling and I think Tony’s going to catch me and then I remember._

_Oh Peter. That’s awful._

_It’s not much fun. May never hears me either._

_I’m sorry. You can always text or call me._

_Thanks._ Peter hesitated, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. _Why are you awake?_

_I don’t know. Can’t sleep. Didn’t want to disturb Buck so I’m sitting on the couch._

_I should’ve stayed over,_ Peter said, even though he was glad to have had an evening with May. Well, mostly glad. He could’ve done without the conversation in the car. _Then at least we’d be awake together._

He paused, thinking. He needed a distraction, and he thought maybe Steve did, too. If they’d been together, they could have watched TV. But even apart, there were options. _You know Words with Friends? It’s a game for your phone. It’s like Scrabble. We could play._

_I don’t know it, but yeah, that sounds good. Give me a minute to download it._

Peter waited while Steve downloaded the app, and then started a game. It was nice. Soothing. Required just enough brain power that he didn’t start spiraling, but not more than he had to give at four in the morning. 

They played for an hour, until Peter was yawning. He didn’t want to leave Steve alone, but when they finished that game, he asked, _Feel like you could sleep?_

 _I feel like I could try anyway_ , Steve replied. _See you in a few hours. Good night, Peter. Thank you._

_Night Steve._

Peter slept without dreaming until almost ten o’clock. He stumbled out, a little bleary from having actually slept a reasonable amount. May was working at the kitchen table on her laptop, but she got up to get him a cup of coffee and didn’t make him talk until he’d drunk most of it.

She was clearly working on something, even though she was at home. Peter watched her frown at the computer and then swear under her breath. “Is there, like, stuff I should know?” Peter asked. “About what’s going on at Stark Industries?”

May glanced up at him over her glasses. “Do you want to?” 

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I guess I should start learning, but it feels like a lot right now.”

“There’s time. Pepper is taking care of it.”

“And you,” Peter said with a smile.

“And me,” May said, smiling back at him. “But mostly Pepper.”

Peter went quiet, turning his mug around clockwise in his hands. He thought about the way his life had reshaped itself in in the last two weeks. He thought about the rest of the summer, the next year, about college and learning what it was like to run a company like SI, about becoming an Avenger, and doing it all without Tony. There would be other people––Steve and Pepper and May and Bruce, others he hadn’t met yet––but they weren’t Tony. 

It was overwhelming. It was so overwhelming that it made his palms start to sweat, made the milk he’d drunk in his coffee curdle in his stomach.

Peter didn’t think he’d made any noise, but May was suddenly looking at him instead of her computer, frowning. “Peter?” she asked.

Peter swallowed. “I’ve been thinking––I need a break. From everything. I don’t think I can do MIT next year. I don’t want to be Spiderman right now, or—or the heir to Stark Industries. I just—I need a break.” His voice cracked dangerously at the end.

“Okay,” she said, carefully. “What kind of break?”

Peter looked down at his cup of coffee, cradled in his hands. “Steve’s thinking about going to Wakanda for a while. I might go with him.”

There was a long silence. “That’s the other side of the world,” May said faintly.

“I know. I know it’s far.”

May closed her laptop. “I thought we were okay. After last night, I thought we were okay.”

“We are,” Peter said, looking at her in surprise. “That’s not it at all. I just––Steve wants to go, to get away for a while and Tony always talked about taking me. I––I think I want to go.”

May’s mouth went thin. “This is about Steve, isn’t it?”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t like the idea of being separated from him right now.”

“But you’re okay at the idea of being separated from me.”

Peter blinked. He didn’t know what to do with that. “I don’t like it,” he finally said. “But I’m not worried about you.”

“I told you last night, it’s not your job to take care of Steve,” May said, a little sharply. 

Peter frowned. “I think it’s our job to take care of each other. Why do you have such a problem with that?”

May sighed. “I don’t.” 

“You do,” Peter replied. “You were weird about it last night, and you’re being weird about it now.” 

“I’m not––I don’t have a problem with it, I just don’t want you to get hurt. But I suppose it doesn’t matter.” May got up to refill her coffee mug. “You’re eighteen. You don’t need my permission.”

“Maybe not,” Peter said, “but I don’t like the idea of going if you’re upset about it. I didn’t think it’d be a problem. I thought you’d like the idea of me staying away from anything Spiderman for a while.”

“I do,” she admitted, softening a little. “I just don’t like the idea of you being so far away from me. Especially right now.”

 _You haven’t even been home_ , Peter thought about saying, but he knew it’d be a bad idea. She’d apologized already; it’d be wrong to throw it in her face like that. So he kept his mouth shut, watching her as she leaned against the counter and sipped her coffee. 

“It’s weird for me to feel so sidelined, I guess,” she finally said. “Though you’d think I’d be used to it, considering the kinds of secrets you’ve kept from me before.”

Peter’s breath caught. His eyes stung. It hurt, mostly because it was true––but also because he felt the weight of the most important thing he’d never told her: that he’d been there when Ben died, that he’d seen it, that he’d held him, even. But the way she was looking at him, he didn’t think it’d be a good idea to tell her just then. “I’m not––May, I don’t want you to feel––”

“It’s okay,” May said, though Peter didn’t think it was. “You should go if that’s what you want to do.” She stood up. “I’m going to grab a shower.”

She brushed her hand over his hair as she passed, but it wasn’t her usual ruffle. It was hesitant, like she suddenly didn’t know how to act with him. Like Peter was a different person from ten minutes ago. Peter didn’t know what to do, what to say, to make her understand. He was still her kid, the one she’d raised. But he couldn’t deny that he’d changed, too, and maybe the truth was that she didn’t understand him as well anymore. Maybe there was a reason he found himself seeking out Steve––not only because of their shared grief over Tony, but because Peter felt understood when he was with him. 

Peter went into his room and crawled out the window to sit on the fire escape. Dr. Gates had told him yesterday that he wanted him to keep checking in, so he opened his phone and texted him.

_May and I just had a really weird conversation. It wasn’t really a fight. But I think she’s hurt that Steve and I are doing so much better than she and I are. We talked last night about how she hadn’t been home much, and I thought we were okay, but now we’re not._

He sent the message, then glanced at his conversation with Ned and MJ. It’d been pretty quiet. Ned was like twelve hours ahead of them, and MJ was busy. They both responded when Peter said something—eventually—but neither of them were starting conversations. It made Peter feel lonely, even though he didn’t resent them for having their own lives. He didn’t know what he wanted from them, anyway. He was the only person he knew who’d had this kind of thing happen to them even once, much less multiple times.

Dr. Gates wrote back while Peter was still trying to figure out what to say to his friends. _Consciously or not, you are probably pulling away from her, and that’s okay. It’s normal for someone your age. I’m sure she knew this was coming, but it’s hard for any parent. You’d be going away to school if Tony hadn’t died, and now you’re going through something she can’t go through with you. You’re finding other people to depend on. That’s good, that’s healthy._

 _Nothing about this feels normal or healthy_ , Peter replied. _She’s being really weird about Steve. She told me to give him space, but he told me I should text or call him whenever I need to. Is it weird that he and I are spending so much time together?_

_No, Peter, it isn’t weird. And if you and Steve have talked and you feel like what you’re doing is working for both of you, then that’s what matters. You seemed better when I saw you yesterday, after spending some time with Steve._

Peter relaxed. _So what do I do about May?_

_Do you feel you need to resolve things now or do you think it would be better for you to let things settle a bit before you try again?_

Peter hesitated. _Let things settle_ , he finally sent, even though it felt a little bit like taking the easy way out.

_Good. Would you like to speak by phone?_

Peter grimaced. He did, sort of, but he’d just had therapy the day before, and he knew that most people’s therapists weren’t available to them the way that Dr. Gates was to him. He was sure that he was well-compensated for it by the super fancy Avengers insurance plan Tony had put Peter and May on, but he still felt bad interfering with his weekend. _No, it’s okay. Sorry for bothering you on a Saturday._

_Don’t apologize, Peter. Take care of yourself._

_I will. Thanks._

Peter climbed back in the window. He sat on his bed and thought about just lying down and going back to sleep, but for the first time in days he wasn’t physically exhausted. He’d thought that he and May would spend the afternoon together, but he didn’t want to now. And Dr. Gates had seemed to think it was okay to let things settle a bit.

 _Hey_ , he texted Steve. _Want to get together a little early?_

 _Sure_ , came the answer almost immediately. _Central Park? I’ll pick up Zabar’s._

_Yeah. 2:30?_

_Sounds good. See you there._

He snagged the shower after May got out and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, folding his clothes for the theater as carefully as he could before putting them into his backpack. 

May was sitting at the kitchen table, tapping away at her laptop again. “I’m heading out,” Peter said, swiping his keys off their hook.

“Already?” she said. “I thought you weren’t meeting Steve until dinner.”

“Meeting him early,” Peter said, not looking at her. “And I’ll probably stay over, so... I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Silence. “Okay,” May finally said. Peter turned to go. “Peter?” she said abruptly.

He turned back, looking at her.

“Take an umbrella. It might rain later.”

It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say. They both knew it. But he just nodded and grabbed an umbrella before escaping. Because that was what it felt like––an escape. 

Steve clearly knew something was up, but he didn’t ask about it, and Peter didn’t offer anything up. It felt weird to talk to him about the problems that he and May were having, like it would’ve been a betrayal of May, somehow. So instead, the two of them ate sandwiches and pickles from Zabar’s, sitting beneath a tree and watching New York go by. 

It was comfortable. Easy. Some of the tension that’d been coiled up tight in Peter’s stomach finally released. 

“Are you still thinking about Wakanda?” Peter asked as they walked through the park later. Steve had a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, but they’d still gotten a couple of looks. No one had approached them, though.

“Yeah,” he said. “But only if you want to come.”

“I think I do.”. 

“Okay,” Steve said, and smiled. He squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll let T’Challa know.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, gratefully. “It’ll be good, I think.”

“Me too,” Steve said softly. Peter looked up at him, and they exchanged a look of understanding.

Somehow, Peter didn’t do the calculation right, or maybe he just got turned around. He knew where the tower was in relation to the park, but he didn’t realize that they’d come out of the park at the tower’s base. Steve didn’t either, judging by the look on his face, and he’d _lived_ there. Even from across the street, Peter could see the stuff that people had left for Tony, the cards and the toys and the flowers. He grabbed Steve’s arm and started pull him away. But Steve shook his head and planted his feet, refusing to be moved.

“You don’t have to,” he told Peter. “But I want to.” He crossed the street against the light, and Peter reluctantly followed. 

Some of the items had gotten wet in the rain the day before. But a lot of it was protected by the tower itself, so it was still recognizable. And some of it was new, it looked like. People were still leaving things. 

Steve slowly came to a halt and stared at it. Peter hung back, watching as Steve crouched down and picked up one of the cards, and then one of the Iron Man plushies. He set them back down, and then just stayed crouched there, looking at everything. 

There were a couple of people across the street taking photos, Peter realized. They didn’t look like paparazzi; they were just using their phones. But still, it annoyed him. He wished briefly for his web shooters so he could confiscate their stupid phones, but he settled for crossing the street and sidling up next to them. 

“Hey,” he said in a faux-friendly tone. “I know you’re not planning to post pictures of someone grieving for his best friend all over the internet. Or worse yet, sell them to the highest bidder.”

The guy turned and scowled at him. “Why do you care?” 

“Basic human decency,” Peter replied.

“Whatever,” Scowly McScowlface said. “It’s a free fucking country, and he’s in public. Besides, I hear they weren’t even friends. I hear they didn’t even _like_ each other.”

“Yeah, well, you heard wrong,” Peter snapped. 

“I heard Tony Stark was a dick,” McScowlface’s friend said. “If he and Captain America didn’t get along, there was probably a reason.”

“Take that back,” Peter said, glaring at her.

She snapped her gum at him. “Why should I? What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you care, anyway?” McScowlface said, before Peter could say something _really_ unfortunate. “What are you so worked up for? It’s not like you know either of them. What are you, some kind of delusional fan who thinks he knows the Avengers? Or are you just a pathetic stalker?”

“Says the person taking photos from across the street.” Peter took a breath, trying to hang onto his temper. “Look, how about you just delete the pictures, and we call it good?”

McScowlface frowned, pretending to think about it. It didn’t look like thinking was something he did very often. “Mmm... no. How about that?” He laughed, turning away, and that was the last straw. 

Peter reached out, Spiderman-quick, and snatched the phone from the jerk’s hand. The guy yelped, but before he had time to do anything else, Peter had cracked the phone in half. He let the pieces fall to the ground. 

“That was my _phone_ , you asshole!” the guy yelled. 

“Holy shit,” his obviously much smarter friend said, staring at it. “How did you do that?”

“What’s going on here?” Peter heard Steve ask from behind him. 

Peter turned. “These jerks were taking photos of you at the memorial. And they were saying bad things about T––about Iron Man.”

“I see,” was all Steve said, and that was all he had to say, because suddenly McScowlface was shaking his head. 

“I’m really sorry, Captain Rogers,” he stammered. “I wasn’t going to post them or sell them or anything, I swear.”

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Steve said in what Peter thought of as his “Captain America voice.” It was the voice he’d known from those stupid gym class PSA’s long before he’d gotten to know Steve as a person. It was weird to hear it now. “Actually, I care about that much less than I care that you were bad-mouthing someone who’s no longer here to defend himself. Post your photos, if there’s anything left of them. I’m not ashamed of grieving.” He nudged the broken phone with his foot. “Maybe they’re in the cloud? Is that right? Tony always tried to explain technology to me, but I never understood it.”

Peter almost snorted. Steve was just as good with tech these days as the average thirty-year-old. But sometimes he did what Tony had called his “Aww, shucks” routine in public to amuse himself. 

“But when you do,” Steve went on, “I want you to say that Steve Rogers told you that Tony Stark is a good man, and a hero, and also, incidentally, the love of his life. Please mention that I am grateful that so many people have taken the time to thank him.” His voice cracked dangerously. 

Peter wondered if Steve was having some kind of out-of-body experience. The assholes were wide-eyed and miraculously speechless. Peter couldn’t blame them. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Steve said, “I have theater tickets. “ He turned and walked away. 

“Whoa,” McScowlface said. “Did he say _love of his life_?”

“I think he did,” his friend said. “Shit, no one is going to believe us.”

“Serves you right,” Peter said, and made sure to crunch some of McScowlface’s phone under foot as he followed Steve down the block. 

***

Steve got three blocks away from the tower and ducked into a Starbucks. He was shaking, and he felt kind of clammy and nauseous. There was an empty table toward the back, away from the windows, and he snagged it. He put his head in his hands.

He needed to let Peter know where he was, he realized, and pulled out his phone. But before he had the chance to text him, the door to the coffee shop opened, and Peter came in. He caught sight of Steve and slid into the seat next to him. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

“Not sure,” Steve admitted. He held his hands out. They were still shaking. “I don’t know what came over me. Oh God, did I really tell them that Tony was the love of my life?”

“You did,” Peter said, “but they were saying when I left that no one was going to believe them, so I think you’re in the clear. If you want to be.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He supposed that was the question. They hadn’t talked about it much, but he’d always assumed they would go public eventually––maybe after their engagement. He twisted the ring on his finger. There didn’t seem to be much point in doing it now, except that Steve knew there were people out there who had all kinds of ideas about Tony, about him and Tony, and part of him wanted them to know the truth. 

“You want something to drink?” Peter asked, watching him with palpable concern. Steve nodded, and Peter went to get in line. 

He came back with iced teas for both of them. Steve wrapped his hands around the cup, concentrating on the feeling of the condensation against his skin. He took a couple of sips and then set it down, covering his face with his hands. Peter put his hand on Steve’s back between his shoulder blades, steady and supporting. 

“Do we have a few minutes?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, glancing at his watch. “We have time.”

Steve was silent for a while, sipping his iced tea. He felt less clammy and shaky. Peter was a watchful presence next to him, keeping an eye on the door, making sure that no one disturbed him. Just as he had at the tower. 

What had he been thinking, going to to the tower? If he was going to be recognized anywhere in the city, it would be there. But he hadn’t cared. He’d wanted to see what people had left for Tony. Maybe he had even wanted a confrontation like the one he got. 

They finished their iced teas. Peter asked him if he wanted anything else, but Steve just shook his head. Somehow, it was almost 6:30. The show started at eight, and they’d planned on getting pizza beforehand, so they needed to get going.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said as they left the Starbucks. 

“Don’t be,” Peter said. “The number of times I’ve freaked out on you––honestly, it makes me feel better to even the score a little.”

Steve had to smile. “Do you think anyone recognized me?”

“I think one of the baristas did,” Peter said. “She kept looking over at us. But she didn’t take any photos or anything.”

Steve nodded. He shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked. “So, um. Do you know anything about the show tonight?”

“Do I know anything about _Hamilton_?” Peter replied, eyebrows up. “Uh... I guess just what everyone does. I’ve listened to parts of the soundtrack, though I don’t think I’ve ever heard it all the way through. MJ loves it. Sometimes she makes the decathlon team listen to ‘My Shot’ before meets. Didn’t think I’d ever get to see it, because tickets are so crazy expensive.”

“I haven’t listened to the soundtrack.” 

“Seriously?” 

Steve shrugged. “I kept hoping Tony would get over his hatred of musicals enough to want to go, and I wanted to save it for when I actually got to see it. I know that it’s a hip-hop musical about Alexander Hamilton––which I have to say, is one of the stranger sentences I’ve heard since waking up in the 21st century. But not much else.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Well, MJ says it’s really about marginalized groups reclaiming the history of the United States from being co-opted by the white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. But I think it’s about a lot of other stuff, too.”

“Like what?” 

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. Ambition, I guess? Like, wanting to make your mark on the world? Not in a bad way, he wanted to do a good job for the country, but he was also really afraid of dying without having done anything worth remembering.”

“I guess I can identify with that,” Steve said wryly. “Just a little.”

“Thought you might, Mr. Four Times 4F.”

They got to Times Square in time to grab a slice of pizza before heading over to the theater. Peter changed into nicer clothes in the bathroom of the pizzeria. Steve was already wearing slacks and a button down, which in these informal times was about as dressed up as most people got, even for the theater. He might’ve worn a jacket, but it was a warm summer evening, and he was just as glad he hadn’t.

Tony being Tony, they weren’t just any tickets––they were box seats. The woman in the box office looked vaguely horrified that Steve was picking them up just like anyone would, and a manager immediately appeared to take them upstairs. “I apologize for not being more prepared for you,” the manager––Clarissa––said as they climbed the stairs to the box. “We knew that Mr. Stark had tickets for tonight, but we didn’t think they would be used.”

“They were a birthday present for me,” Steve said, as steadily as he could. “We decided he’d have wanted us to use them.”

“Of course,” Clarissa said, and showed them into the box. It had four seats, but Steve suspected there wouldn’t be anyone in the other two. “Can I get the two of you anything? Water, perhaps?”

“Water would be great,” Peter said, before Steve could politely decline. 

She started to turn away. Then she turned back. “And if it’s not too forward, may I also say––I’m really sorry for your loss.”

Steve gave her a nod. “Thank you,” he managed. 

It was early still. Peter peered over the edge of the box to look at the stage and the people filing in. Steve stayed in his seat, sipping his water and trying some of the breathing exercises Sam had taught him. He felt like he’d been riding a knife’s edge ever since the tower. He’d thought he’d been ready for that, but clearly he hadn’t been. 

By the time the lights went down, he felt a little better. And then the show started, and he was transported. 

He’d had few expectations, other than that it would hopefully be worth the hype and whatever obscene amount of money Tony had paid for the tickets. He’d hoped it might be distracting enough to get him out of his own head. But there was so much that he was unprepared for––and in particular, the driving, ambitious hunger that Peter had mentioned, and which seemed to be Hamilton’s defining characteristic. The need to prove himself, to make something of himself because––and perhaps here Steve was projecting a little––he’d always been sure he would die young, without having done anything. Tony had felt some of that, too, Steve thought, despite having been born famous.

Tony would have loved the show, Steve was certain. He’d been so resistant to going, saying that he didn’t do musicals, that they were trite, mass-produced crap––some of which had been to throw Steve off the scent, he realized now. But whatever this was, it wasn’t trite. Though Tony probably would’ve had something sarcastic to say about how proud Steve felt to come from a place that could produce a piece of theater like this. Steve’s feelings about America were decidedly mixed these days, and Tony’s had always been several orders of magnitude more cynical than his. Steve was sure that he would’ve had something cutting to say about it all. But he would’ve still liked it, despite himself. 

If he couldn’t be here with Tony, then Steve was glad to be here with Peter. He looked enraptured every time Steve glanced over at him. But he still felt Tony’s absence keenly, as an ache in his chest beneath his breastbone that grew acute at times. Burr quickly became Steve’s least favorite out of the main cast––he had never understood that sort of self-serving caution––but he almost changed his mind toward the end of the first act, when he sang a song that made the ache in Steve’s chest become nearly a physical pain. 

_And if there's a reason I'm still alive_  
_When everyone who loves me has died_  
_I'm willing to wait for it._  
_I'm willing to wait for it._

Steve found himself with a lump in his throat, thinking about everyone he loved who was gone now. He knew all too well how it felt to be the last one left, and to feel as though he had to make the dumb luck of living count somehow. He had never gone about it the way Burr did; he had always forced fate’s hand through sheer force of will. And he was doing it again, now. He didn’t know why he was alive instead of Tony. But he had to make it count, somehow, for both of them. 

It wasn’t enough to make him like Aaron Burr, but maybe he despised him just a little less. And he was half in love with the voice of the actor playing him.

Steve was almost startled when the lights went up at intermission, he’d been so wrapped up in the show. Peter sat back in his chair from where he’d been perched on the edge of it throughout most of the first act. 

“Do you like it?” he asked Steve. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, shaking himself a little. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I do like it.”

“The second half is pretty different from the first, I think. I like the first half better.”

Steve smiled at him. “You’re young. Of course you like the part about young people setting the world on fire.”

“You’re young, too,” Peter replied, frowning at him. “That was, what? Your thirty-second birthday?”

Steve looked away, not much appreciating the reminder of how young he actually was. There was a lot of his life left to live, and he honestly wasn’t sure how he felt about it, these days. “Thirty-fourth.” 

“So... yeah. I mean, that’s not old.”

“No,” Steve said heavily. “But I feel older than that. A lot older than that. And not only because I was born in 1918.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I get that. Sometimes I don’t feel like I have much in common with anyone my own age. Even MJ and Ned. They try really hard, but they don’t get it. But, I mean... I guess I don’t really want them to. I wouldn’t wish what I’ve gone through on anyone.”

Steve put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed. Peter leaned back into his grip, letting his head rest lightly on Steve’s shoulder. The two of them fell silent, watching as the rest of the audience milled about and finally began filing back for the second act. 

The lights went down again, and Steve was reminded that ambition had a dark side, and power often corrupted even those with good intentions. He had been prepared for that, more or less––not because he knew much about Hamilton’s story, but because that had always been true. And he knew where the story was going; he knew there would be no happy ending for Hamilton, no death of old age in bed with his beloved Eliza at his side. 

What he wasn’t prepared for was the death of Hamilton’s son. He wasn’t prepared for the song that came after, about grief and love and forgiveness, about depression and recovery when you weren’t even sure that recovery was worth it. 

_There are moments that the words don’t reach_  
_There is suffering too terrible to name_  
_You hold your child as tight as you can_  
_And push away the unimaginable_  
_The moments when you’re in so deep_  
_It feels easier to just swim down._

He started crying, almost unaware of it at first, until he felt the first tear fall and land on his hands, folded in his lap. 

Beside him, he heard Peter sniffle. Steve reached out blindly and managed to find Peter’s hand. Peter gripped his hand back. 

_But I’m not afraid_ , Hamilton declared to Eliza, and Steve held fast to Peter’s hand, thinking of Tony and his bravery. He had always been the bravest among them. _I know who I married. Just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough._ Steve drew a shuddering breath and used the heel of his free hand to wipe his eyes. Why did no one in this century carry a damn handkerchief?

Steve felt something nudge his hand. He looked down and realized that Peter was holding out a packet of tissues to him. Steve took one and pressed it against each of his eyes in turn. He took a hitching breath.

Losing his partner was not the same as losing his child. Steve had seen Tony after the snap, after he had lost Peter, and Steve knew it was not the same. But still, the song’s quiet devastation, and the way that Alexander and Eliza managed to find their way through it, back to each other––

He and Tony had done that once. He had found himself in Hamilton’s position, having done something terrible that he regretted with every fiber of his being, certain that he did not deserve to be forgiven and yet hoping for forgiveness despite that certainty. And somehow he and Tony had done the unimaginable, in the midst of a world that was every bit as devastated as the Hamiltons were. Tony had found it in himself to forgive him, even if Steve had not deserved it. 

It was too much. Music did this sometimes, Steve thought. It reached inside you to the place where you were most vulnerable and pressed on it just a little too hard. He’d felt that way listening to music in church after his mother had died. But even that had not felt quite like this. He felt so exposed. If he hadn’t had Peter with him, he wasn’t sure he could have handled it at all. But he did have Peter, and Peter didn’t let go of his hand. 

It was a relief when the song ended, and the show snapped back to politics, even briefly. But Steve still felt fragile as they started the headlong rush toward its inevitable conclusion. 

The last two songs felt like they’d been written for him. 

Bruce had told him that first night, when Steve had been just about out of his head with physical pain and grief, that most likely that Tony had been knocked unconscious in the explosion––that he hadn’t experienced any fear or pain in his final moments. Since then, Steve had resisted thinking about any of that. The uncertainty, the not-knowing, was agonizing. But he couldn’t not think about it now, watching Hamilton get shot on stage, and wondering if Tony had seen it coming, or if it had just taken him, unawares. He had to hope––but he’d never know. Not for sure. 

And then––the last song. Eliza’s. _Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?_

He almost held it together, but the idea of another fifty years without Tony––which is what he would have, at least, if he didn’t die in battle before then––broke his heart. He started crying again, and Peter’s hold on his hand tightened. Steve looked over and saw that he was crying, too, though he didn’t look as wrecked as Steve felt. Steve supposed only one of them could be a mess at a time.

It wasn’t fair that he was always the one who lived. It felt like a curse. Maybe it had felt like a curse to Eliza, too, that she got all the time that Hamilton didn’t. But she had made use of it, and Steve promised himself that he would, too. He would make use of the time he had left, and he would tell Tony’s story even if it meant subjecting himself to painful scrutiny. He would make the living count.

But God in heaven, it hurt. He wondered if Eliza Hamilton had ever cursed God for giving her _so much time_. This fictionalized version of her, maybe. 

_I can’t wait to see you again. It’s only a matter of time._

Jesus. Steve wasn’t even sure he believed that anymore, but it sure made him want to. It made him _wish_ he could believe, with the same faith he’d had when he was younger, that he’d see Tony again someday. That this wasn’t the end for them.

Afterward, he didn’t even remember the curtain call. He was pretty sure he applauded, but mostly he was just trying to pull himself together. The curtain closed and the lights came up and people started leaving. Steve leaned away from the edge of the box, hoping no one would see him. He couldn’t stop crying. 

“Let’s just sit here,” Peter said, his own voice rough. “Let everyone else clear out.”

Steve nodded, unable to speak. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the ending. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Steve managed, knuckling over his chest. It ached. He drew a shaky breath. “This is what art does, isn’t it? It makes you feel things. I just... I wasn’t expecting to feel like this.”

Peter squeezed Steve’s hand. 

The theater had just about cleared out when Clarissa appeared at the entrance to the box. “Captain Rogers?” she said, and then caught sight of his face. “Oh.”

“Could you possibly call us a cab?” Peter asked. “And is there a back exit of some kind?”

“Yes, of course.” She hesitated. “A few of the cast had asked if they could speak with you, but I’ll tell them you’re not available.”

“Thanks,” Steve said thickly, swiping a hand over his face. “I’d be glad to come back another time, though. Tell them I loved it. I did love it. It was just––it was a lot right now. At this particular moment.”

“Of course. I’ll get that cab for you, and have a staff member show you out the back. Take your time.”

Steve felt bad for putting the staff at the theater out, but it was a relief to just follow someone out the back door and into a waiting cab. Peter gave the driver Bucky’s address and then settled back beside him. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” Steve murmured. “I don’t think I could have handled it without you.”

Peter looked over at him. “Are you still glad you went?”

Steve took a deep breath, finally feeling a little calmer. “Yes. How are you doing?” he asked, glancing back at Peter. “That must have been hard for you, too.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah. But you were right about feeling things. My therapist says it’s important to feel things, because if we stop feeling them, sometimes we forget how to start again.” Steve made a noise of understanding in his throat. Peter was quiet for a few seconds. “Today has been kind of... rough.”

It was the first time he’d alluded to whatever had happened to prompt him to ask Steve to meet him early. Steve felt as though he finally had permission to ask, “Did something happen at home?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably. “May and I had a fight.”

“About?”

Peter was silent for just a few beats too long. “I don’t know, really,” Peter finally said with a shrug. “This is all... it’s bringing up some stuff from when Ben died. I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Steve said. “She’s okay with you staying over?”

“I told her I was,” Peter said. This was not at all the same thing, Steve realized. 

He thought about pressing, but the truth was that he was emotionally exhausted, and Peter sounded like he really didn’t want to talk about it. A few moments went by in silence, and then Peter pulled out his phone. Steve leaned his head against the window. 

“Are you hungry?” Peter asked. “Bucky just texted and said he could order Chinese food for when we get there.”

“Yeah. I could eat.” He wasn’t hungry, as such, but he should probably eat anyway. There was a certain hollowness in his stomach that he thought could be hunger if he wasn’t so strung out.

The cab dropped them off at Bucky’s. Steve managed to smile vaguely at the overnight doorman, but he found himself leaning against the wall in the elevator, feeling almost shaky. He was really glad to see Bucky; Peter must have told something, because he didn’t ask how the show was, just hugged him long and hard. Steve rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder and closed his eyes, grateful not to have to explain. 

He let Bucky make him up a plate from the Chinese food containers on the counter and slumped onto the couch with Peter, who was looking at his phone again. “Everything okay?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, slipping it into his pocket. He picked up his plate from the coffee table. “Just letting May know that I’m here.”

Steve had the feeling Peter was lying. He frowned at him. “Really?”

Peter sighed. “Those idiots at the tower earlier. I wrecked his phone, but looking back I think she might’ve been taking photos, too. I’m worried they might start something online. I wanted to give Pepper a heads up.”

“What idiots?” Bucky asked from the kitchen. 

Peter twisted around on the couch to tell him what had happened. “So, yeah,” Peter concluded. “They didn’t think anyone would believe them if they repeated what Steve had told him, but you never know.”

“It was so stupid,” Steve said, mad at himself. “And so preventable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Does it matter, though?” Bucky asked. “I mean, it’s not like being gay is like when we were growing up.”

“People are still assholes about it sometimes,” Peter said. “There’d be some PR stuff to deal with. But Pepper can handle it.”

Steve sighed. “It’s not even the coming out that I’m worried about. I almost don’t care about that. But the last thing I want is to create more work for Pepper. If I had just kept my damn mouth shut––”

“Steven Grant Rogers, eat your fucking moo shu before I stab you with a chopstick,” Bucky said, dropping down next to him. “It happened. One of the most competent people we know is dealing with it. Wait and see how it falls out before you start angsting about it.”

“What he said,” Peter said through a mouthful of cashew chicken.

“Okay,” Steve said, if only because he was too fucking tired to keep arguing. 

They finished eating mostly in silence. Peter was quiet, and Steve could tell something was weighing on him. Maybe it was the fight with May, or it could have been the unexpectedly difficult evening. When Bucky pulled out the vaporizer and looked questioningly at Peter, he nodded.

“Steve?” Bucky asked. 

“No, thanks.” 

Afterward, Bucky and Peter settled on the sofa, bracketing Steve. Bucky handed the remote to Peter, who put on an episode of _Parks and Rec_. Steve let his head fall to rest against Bucky’s arm, and felt, not for the first time, his grief resting on his shoulders, almost a physical weight. He carried so much of it now, and he wondered just how much more he could hold before he buckled beneath it. He fell asleep with Eliza’s final words echoing in his mind. 

He woke to Bucky shaking him gently. He prodded him off the couch and into the bedroom, as Peter shuffled sleepily off to the guest room. Steve changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth at Bucky’s insistence, and then he collapsed into bed. Bucky crawled in beside him and spooned up behind him, as he’d done the last two nights. 

“You okay?” Bucky asked him. “Peter said it was intense.”

“It was,” Steve admitted. “And... I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m okay, Bucky.”

It felt like admitting a lot. Bucky just exhaled and held him closer. “Love you, punk.”

“Love you, too, Buck.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He tucked his chin down and closed his eyes. 

***

Peter was woken much earlier than he wanted the next morning by his phone ringing. He grumbled, fumbling for it on the nightstand. 

_Bruce Banner._

It wasn’t fair to Bruce that seeing his name made Peter’s stomach turn sour. He was probably calling just to check in and see how Peter was doing. And in all fairness, 9:30 wasn’t exactly early by most people’s standards. Peter took a deep breath and answered it. 

“‘Lo?”

“Good morning, Peter,” Bruce said. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, rolling onto his back. “What’s up?”

There was the briefest of pauses. “How are you?” Bruce finally asked. 

Peter sighed, looking up at the ceiling of Bucky’s guest room. “Not great,” he admitted. “Though I didn’t have any nightmares last night, so that’s good, I guess.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Bruce cleared his throat. “I wasn’t calling just to check in.”

Peter sat up, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, in a slow sort of way that made the hair on the back of Peter’s arms stand up. “I’m calling to see if you can come up to the compound. You and Steve.”

“When?”

“Today. As soon as possible.”

Peter swung his legs out of bed. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you,” Bruce said. “I wish I could but I can’t. It’s the sort of thing you have to see for yourself.”

This was getting weirder by the second. “Bruce, whatever it is, just tell me. I’m not in the mood for surprises right now. I don’t think Steve is either.”

Bruce sighed. “I need you to trust me, all right? Just get up here as soon as you can, and bring Steve.”

“Okay,” Peter finally said. “Okay, I guess we’ll see you guys soon.”

He disconnected and threw the covers off. In the living room he ran into Steve, who was holding his phone in his hand, his brow furrowed in the same sort of confused worry that Peter himself was feeling. Bucky leaned in the doorway to the bedroom, watching both of them, and looking remarkably dangerous, despite wearing sushi pajamas. 

“Was that Natasha?” Peter asked.

Steve shook his head, “Sam. He wants us to come up to the compound today—”

“—and won’t tell you why,” Peter finished. Steve nodded. “Bruce called me and said the same thing. I don’t like it. Do you think they’ve been... invaded? Or, like, body snatched? _Something_ is going on. My spidey sense is going haywire.” It wasn’t full-on you’re-about-to-die screaming at him, but his heart was beating like he was running and all the hair on the backs of his arms and the back of his neck was prickling. 

“It feels weird, that’s for sure,” Steve said. “But not like a trap.”

Bucky snorted. “That’s because you have no sense of self-preservation, pal.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Steve said, turning to glare at him.

“We go,” Bucky said. “But we go _prepared_.”

By “prepared,” Bucky apparently meant “with as many weapons as his car would hold.” All Steve wanted was his shield, of course, and Peter wanted his suit with all the built-in weapons and fail-safes Tony had made him. They had to go to Queens to get it, and Peter wasn’t sure, as he ran up the stairs three at a time to the apartment, whether he was hoping May would be there or praying she wasn’t. 

She wasn’t. Peter was both relieved and disappointed. It let him grab the suit without having to answer any questions or maybe even get into another argument, but he selfishly wished she’d been there, waiting for him. Glad to see him. 

He shoved it all down. He’d deal with it once they took care of whatever was brewing at the compound.

Peter had to admit that it felt good to be focusing on something outside of himself. He had to pull it together; there was no other option. And Steve––in the passenger’s seat because _we won’t be of any use to anyone if we get ourselves killed on the fucking Parkway, Steve_ ––looked like he was feeling the same way. Peter knew it was only a reprieve, but he thought they’d both needed _something_. 

This was, he realized, deeply fucked up, and he was going to feel awful about it if it turned out the others really were in a life-or-death situation. _Thanks for getting body-snatched, it provided a well-timed break from my soul-crushing grief!_ Yeah. Fucked up. 

A mile and a half out from the compound, just beyond the radius of surveillance Tony had established, Bucky pulled the car off the road and parked it. Peter suited up, while Bucky and Steve armed themselves out of the trunk. Peter’s job was to get as close as possible, while Steve and Bucky would keep a somewhat wider radius, until they were able to regroup. 

It felt weird to be back in the suit. Peter took some deep breaths and tried to focus.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah. Just haven’t done this since it happened.” 

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “You got your comlink?” Peter nodded. “And you’re on the right channel?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “You sure we shouldn’t try and check-in with FRIDAY?”

Steve shook his head. “FRIDAY might be compromised. I don’t think we can risk it. Can you keep the AI in your suit from contacting her?”

“Yeah, there’s like an incognito mode.”

“Good. Let’s all stick to the plan, all right? Reconnaissance until we know what the situation is. Do not engage unless you’re forced to.”

“Got it, Cap,” Peter said. 

Bucky nodded. “Rogers that.”

Steve groaned. “That joke was old ninety years ago.”

“And yet,” Bucky said, unrepentant. He shouldered the largest of his guns. “See you on the other side. Try not to be self-sacrificing idiots, both of you.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said wryly. Bucky turned vanished into the shadows. Steve looked at Peter. “Be careful, all right?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said shortly. 

“I mean it,” Steve said firmly. “Grief can make us less inclined to be careful about our own safety. Less inclined to care whether we come out of something in one piece.”

Peter nodded. Steve had only been about a week out from losing Bucky when he’d put the plane down in the Arctic. Or at least that was how every Captain America movie ever made had made it seem. “You, too, then.”

Steve nodded. “Deal. Good luck.”

“Good luck,” Peter echoed, and took to the trees as Steve vanished in the opposite direction Bucky had gone, toward the far side of the lake. 

Tree-swinging was different from city-swinging, and it would never be Peter’s favorite. So many branches waiting to _thwap_ him in the face or––even worse––catch him in the stomach. Still, it was good to be in the air again, and the dreaded branches at least gave him cover.

“Welcome back, Peter,” Karen said. 

“Thanks, Karen," Peter said. "Incognito mode, okay? We think something might be up with FRIDAY."

"Incognito mode engaged."

"Great, thanks. So... how’s it been, Karen?”

“I have been in stand-by mode,” Karen said. “It has been an unusually long time since you used the suit. Are you all right?”

“Not really,” Peter said. “Tony, um. Tony died.”

“I am so very sorry to hear that, Peter. I know he meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah.” Not for the first time, Peter was struck by how _kind_ Karen was––as though Tony had put all the caring he’d been afraid to show Peter at first into the AI for his suit. Peter cleared his throat, trying to refocus his attention. “So I haven’t been going out as Spiderman. Sorry if that means you’ve been bored.”

“Standby isn’t boring. It is like being asleep, I think,” Karen said. “Is sleep boring?”

“No, I guess not,” Peter said. He was nearing the compound. He slowed and scuttled up into the branches of the next tree, peering out at the residence. He could see the giant picture windows that looked out over the lake from the common area living room. “Hey, Karen. Heat signatures?”

The living room lit up. There were five. Sam, Natasha, Bruce, Rhodey––who was the fifth? Had Thor come back? Or Pepper? It was still too far and at the wrong angle for him to see inside. There were no other people around that he could see––no vehicles, or any other signs of alien invasion. The compound was quiet. 

“Five heat signatures inside the common area,” Peter reported. 

“Activity levels in the medical unit are normal,” Steve reported. “All other activity has been suspended or relocated, so this is about what we would expect. Bucky?”

“Nothing unusual from this end either.”

“I guess that means I’m up,” Peter said. “Wish me luck.”

He swung until the trees ended at the base of the hill leading up to the residence, and then dropped to the ground. There was not a lot of cover from here, leading up to the residence, but Peter followed the edge of the woods around until he got to the other side, which was more densely landscaped. The apartments on this side of the building belonged to the Avengers who weren’t in residence as often––Bucky, Thor, and Clint. No one should be in any of them. “Karen, stealth mode.”

“Just so you are aware, Peter, stealth mode is not completely effective in broad daylight.”

“Yep, I know,” Peter said, and crossed his fingers as he started up the hill. 

He made it to the base of the building without incident and leapt up ten feet to cling to the side of it. He was definitely obvious now, if anyone looked right at him, so he decided that speed was probably more important than stealth and started scrambling upward. 

“Peter,” Karen said, ‘FRIDAY is attempting to communicate with me. She wants to know why you’re climbing the side of the building.”

So much for going undetected. “Ask her if she’s under attack.”

“I will just patch you through,” Karen said. 

“Wait––”

“Peter,” FRIDAY said, “what are you doing?”

Peter sighed and opened up the comms channel so Bucky and Steve could hear this, too. “Are you under attack?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Pretty sure that’s what you’d say if you’d been hacked,” Peter said, climbing past the third floor windows. He glanced inside quickly; all the apartments seemed to be empty. “Something is definitely going on.”

There was a pause, almost as though FRIDAY was thinking. “There is no danger,” she said at last.

“Well, I feel better,” Bucky muttered. “That definitely convinced me.”

Peter was climbing as fast as he could. The common area was on the tenth floor, and he was nearly there. There was a convenient ledge that ran around most of the building on that floor. He hauled himself up onto it and crabwalked sideways. He reached the huge balcony that was attached to the common area and leapt up to perch lightly on top of its railing, leaning forward to peer inside. He quickly took account of the four people he expected to see there––Rhodey, Sam, Natasha, and Bruce––but the fifth person was sitting down, with their back to him. Then he moved, turning his head just the slightest bit, and Peter’s breath caught in his throat. 

It was Tony. 

“Oh my God,” Peter said, and fell backwards off the railing. He caught himself with his webbing and swung into the side of the building, where he held on using just his fingertips and toes. He scrambled up a few feet until he was about even with the balcony, but then his muscles locked up and he couldn’t move. His heart was hammering, and he had broken out in a cold sweat. 

“Peter?” Steve asked, clearly alarmed. 

“Tony,” Peter managed. “I thought I saw Tony. I’m––Steve, I’m losing my mind, that’s what it is. Or this is a dream. I’m dreaming and I’m going to wake up and he won’t be here. It’s not real,” he told himself. “It’s not real.”

“I’m informing the others of what is going on,” FRIDAY said. 

“Peter, where are you?” Steve asked, sounding as though he was running. So much for stealth, Peter thought, a little hysterically.

“Side of the residence, ten floors up,” Peter said. “Great spot for a mental breakdown. Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Peter, I suggest you take the mask off if you suspect you might vomit,” Karen said. 

“Yeah, thanks, Karen,” Peter said, and had to hang on with one hand while he shoved the button that retracted the mask, because he really did think he might throw up. He muted himself, too, because no one needed to listen to that. “It’s not real,” he told himself, swallowing back the nausea, “it’s not real. You know it isn’t real. It’s a dream or a delusion or––or anything else. It’s not real.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bruce broke in on the comms. “Steve, why is FRIDAY telling us that Peter is clinging to the side of the residence?”

“Because you scared the hell out of us with that phone call today!” Steve shouted, way too loud into the comms. Peter flinched and dropped another six inches. “‘Get up here as soon as possible but we can’t tell you why’? What the hell do you think that sounds like in our line of work, Bruce? It sounds like you’ve been taken hostage or body-snatched or––or I don’t even know what! And now Peter thinks he’s seen Tony and he’s losing his goddamn mind, and someone had better tell me what the hell is going on right now, because I am not in the fucking mood for games.”

There was a brief silence, during which Peter clung to the building, pressing his forehead into the smooth concrete, and whispered, “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. “

“Language, captain,” Tony said, right into Peter’s ear. 

Peter broke into wracking sobs. It wasn’t fair. Whatever was going on here _wasn’t fair_. He slid down the side of the building, barely able to focus on his grip. God, they were going to put him in some sort of mental hospital for crazy superheroes because he’d finally broken. 

Steve gasped. “Tony?”

“Hi, honey, I’m home. Did you miss me?”

“Do not make jokes right now.” Steve sounded like he was running again, and his voice was all choked up. Whatever part of Peter’s mind was doing this to him, it was doing a fantastic job of imagining what Steve would sound like if it turned out Tony really was alive––amazed and joyous and furious and fearful, all at once. “Where are you? Oh God, I’m going to kill you. I need to see you _right now_.”

“Wait, Steve, _Peter_ ,” Bucky broke in. “I got eyes on him from the ground. He’s ten stories up and he’s having a fucking panic attack.”

“What?” Definitely-Not-Tony said, all traces of joking immediately vanished. “Where?” 

Peter couldn’t let go of the building long enough to unmute himself. What would he say, anyway? None of this was real. 

“Just to the south of the common floor balcony,” Bucky replied. 

The door to the balcony opened, and Tony, Bruce, and Natasha rushed out. God, it was so real. Tony didn’t look quite like he had the last time Peter had seen him. He was thinner, and he looked really tired. Why would his mind change him like that, if it was trying to trick him? 

No, Peter told himself firmly. It wasn’t real. This was how people went crazy, and he wasn’t going crazy. 

“Peter,” Not-Tony gasped, leaning over the railing and holding his hand out. 

“Don’t touch me!” Peter yelled, even though he was well out of arm’s reach. “You’re not real. You not, you’re not, you’re _not_.”

“Peter, he is,” Natasha said, leaning over the balcony railing to see him. “He is.”

“I swear to you, Peter,” Bruce added. “We’ve spent the last day and a half running every test I could think of, and he’s real, and he’s really Tony.”

Peter shook his head frantically. “I want Steve,” he managed. 

Tony looked stricken. Peter tucked his head down and closed his eyes, until he heard Steve say, “Tony?” in a shaking, disbelieving voice. He looked up then, to see Steve frozen on the balcony, staring at Tony.

“Hi Steve,” Tony said, in a very different tone than he’d used earlier. He stretched his hand out, and Steve took it. Tony tugged, and Steve stumbled forward, wrapping his arms around Tony and pressing his face into Tony’s neck. Even from ten feet away, Peter could see how badly Steve was shaking. “Shh, Steve. It’s okay. I’m back, yeah?”

Every part of Peter wanted to believe what he was seeing. But this sort of thing didn’t happen to him. As real as it felt, he couldn’t let himself believe in it. Best case scenario, it was a dream, and waking would be awful. Worst case scenario, it was his own brain trying to destroy him. He didn’t know if you could hold out against delusions through sheer force of will, but he had to try. 

His grip faltered and he slipped a few inches. Bucky gave a warning shout, and that was enough to break up the scene on the balcony. “Peter,” Steve said, leaning over the edge of the balcony while still keeping hold of Tony with one hand, “please come on up.”

“It’s not real,” Peter said through his tears.

“We’ll figure that out once you’re not clinging to the side of the building, okay?” He held his free hand out. 

Peter took a couple deep breaths and forced his muscles to unlock. He climbed up and over, until he could take Steve’s hand. Steve pulled him onto the balcony, and Peter realized his legs were water and wouldn’t hold him. He collapsed into Steve’s chest, and they both sank to the ground. 

“Kid,” Tony said, kneeling down next to them.

“Don’t touch me,” Peter bit out. He turned his face, hiding it in Steve’s shoulder. His breath was coming way too fast. “I know it’s not real. Please don’t let them lock me up.”

“No one’s locking you anywhere,” Steve said firmly. “You’re okay. Breathe with me.”

Peter tried. If this _was_ real, he thought, then helping him try to stave off a panic attack was probably the last thing Steve wanted to be doing right now, with Tony right there, back from the dead. It gave him a weird sense of vertigo, or double-vision— _feeling_ it one way, but _knowing_ that it was probably another.

“Hey, got the kid’s anxiety meds,” Sam’s voice said, sounding very far away. 

“Thank God,” Bruce said, and then he was nudging Tony out of the way. “Hey, Peter, you think you can take the pills? I’ve got the injectable form, too, but that’s going to knock you out, and I’d rather not.”

Unconsciousness sounded great to Peter, actually. Maybe when he woke up this nightmare would be over. “Syringe, please,” he managed.

Bruce frowned. “Are you sure?” Peter nodded, and Bruce sighed. He readied the syringe, and hit the catches on the right arm of the suit, exposing the undersuit. He rolled up the sleeve.

Peter closed his eyes, leaning against Steve’s chest. He could hear Steve’s heart beating fast but steady, strong. The bite of the needle was quick; there was a brief sensation of cold as the medication hit his bloodstream, and then, only a few seconds later, blessed relief, followed quickly by unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading and especially for wrangling my m-dashes in this chapter.
> 
> I was really overwhelmed by the response to chapter 6. I was worried about the _Hamilton_ bit, that it would come across as cheesy or (heaven forbid!) like old school songfic. I was so glad to hear from so many of you that it worked. This story is in dialogue with a bunch of other texts about grief that are important to me, and that is one of them.
> 
> The M rating is for this chapter, basically. Steve and Tony deserve a reward after going through all of that.

Tony watched Peter go limp in Steve’s arms. Steve looked up at Tony with something like desperation; Tony reached out to touch the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve breathed out hard, turning his head to press his lips to the inside of Tony’s wrist.

Barnes appeared in the doorway, almost out of breath. His eyes landed on Tony and widened. “Fuck me.” 

Tony couldn’t help but grin at him. “Rather not, thanks.”

Steve was _not_ smiling. “Buck, could you...?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, coming forward. He deadlifted Peter right out of Steve’s arms. Peter’s head lolled against Bucky’s shoulder and he moaned, not quite all the way out. “Shh, Peter, I got you,” Bucky said, and Peter quieted. He carried Peter inside.

“You’ve got about five minutes before he wakes up, and God help both of you if you’re not there,” Bruce said warningly, and then left with Sam and Nat, pulling the doors shut behind him. 

Tony looked at Steve, who was looking a little shaky himself, now that he wasn’t being strong for Peter. “Tony,” Steve whispered. Tony knee-walked closer, to within touching distance, and Steve pulled him in to kiss him. Tony brought his hand up to cradle the side of Steve’s face and let Steve drive. Steve kept it soft and relatively chaste, possibly thinking of their time limit. When Steve finally pulled back, Tony could feel that his cheeks were damp. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Tony breathed out, using his thumb to wipe away one of the tears. “I really put you through the wringer, didn’t I?”

“I thought,” Steve said, and couldn’t go on. He let his head fall to rest on Tony’s shoulder. Tony put his hand on the back of Steve’s neck and tucked his chin down. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tony whispered. “I got back to you as fast as I could. I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

Steve drew a trembling breath and sat up. “You’re really okay?”

“A little malnourished,” Tony admitted. “I had about four days of hiking through the Canadian wilderness, which is not something I’m meant for without the suit. Once I was able to call Rhodey—”

“You called _Rhodey_?”

“Don’t be jealous, his was the only number I could remember. Do you know how long it’s been since I physically dialed a phone number? Anyway, Rhodey and Bruce came to get me, but they wouldn’t call you until they were sure it _was_ me.” Tony grimaced; he’d seen their point, even as he had chafed at not being able to call Steve or Peter. 

“But—Tony, _what happened_?”

Tony blew out a breath. “I’ll tell you everything, but I’d rather tell you and Peter together, and I think we’re getting short on time.”

Steve conceded the point with a nod. He stood and offered Tony a hand up, then kept hold of it as they went inside. 

There was a quiet but furious argument unfolding between Sam, Rhodey, and Bruce, with Natasha and Bucky as a sardonic observers. “I _told_ you it was a bad idea not to just tell them,” Sam was saying to Bruce. 

“And how exactly would that conversation have gone?” Bruce replied, polishing his glasses with enough vigor for Tony to worry about them snapping. “I realize this could have gone better, but it’s not the sort of thing you say over the phone!”

“I’m with Bruce on that, but clearly we forgot to factor in their natural paranoia,” Rhodey said. 

“Do you all _not_ have an ‘all clear’ passcode?” Bucky interjected. “Or a ‘help help we’re being invaded’ passcode, for that matter?”

“Clint and I do,” Natasha said.

“Which clearly helped us here,” Sam said, throwing his hands up. “Fine. We’re all idiots.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “I’m not actually sure there was a way to tell us that would’ve avoided Peter freaking out.”

“We might’ve avoided the panic attack on the side of the building,” Tony muttered. Steve squeezed his hand and Tony sighed, conceding. “It’s fine. I didn’t predict it either. How’s he doing?” he asked Bruce.

“Okay. I don’t like that it knocks him out like that, but his pulse and respiration are back to normal.” Bruce looked up at Steve. “Want us to clear out? He should be awake soon.”

Steve gave Bruce a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

Everyone cleared out—up to the penthouse, Bruce said before they left, with Rhodey promising to call Pepper and _just deliver the news over the goddamn phone this time_. Steve went and sat at Peter’s side, wedging himself onto the sofa. Tony perched on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees. 

“So...” Tony said, staring at Peter’s slack face. “How bad has it been?”

“Not great,” Steve admitted. “I mean, we were holding it together, but that’s about it.” He took Peter’s hand in his, and that was when Tony saw it. The ring. It caught the light and glittered briefly. 

His breath stuttered. He’d wondered if Peter had found it. He had never said. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to Tony that Steve might be wearing it.

He almost said something, but at that moment, Peter drew a sharper breath in and stirred. “Mmm. Steve?”

“Right here, Peter,” Steve said, squeezing Peter’s hand. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I had a dream...” He blinked his eyes open and caught sight of Tony. “Oh,” he breathed.

Tony smiled. “Hi, Pete. It’s good to see you.”

Peter sat up, staring. He was still holding fast to Steve’s hand. “Steve?” he said in a small voice. “You see him, too, right?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “It’s not a dream, Peter. And you’re not going crazy.”

“I almost don’t care if I am,” Peter said, and threw himself at Tony. 

Tony caught him, and Peter held onto him hard. It felt a little like being squeezed by a boa constrictor. “Peter, ribs,” he gasped.

“Sorry,” Peter said, muffled, grip loosening just enough to allow Tony to breathe. He had his face buried in Tony’s neck. 

Tony brought his hand up to cradle the back of Peter’s head. “God, kid, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” Peter said wetly, giving Tony a brief shake. “That was—that was—”

“Awful,” Steve finished quietly. 

“Yes,” Peter said, pressing his face into Tony’s shoulder. “Awful.”

Tony swallowed, feeling a little choked up himself. He had known it would be bad for them; he’d been worried enough, and then he’d had four days completely on his own during the trip back to contemplate exactly how bad it might be. In the end, he’d been gone about two weeks, and a lot could happen in two weeks. But it was one thing to worry about that hypothetically, and another to see the evidence of it in the bags under Steve’s eyes, in how thin Peter was in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony said again. “I really am.”

Steve reached out to put a hand on Tony’s knee. Tony had both arms around Peter, but he locked eyes with Steve. “Can you tell us what happened?” Steve asked.

Tony sighed. “Yes. But maybe we could move to the sofa first?” he suggested to Peter.

“Oh, God, sorry,” Peter said, apparently only realizing then that they were balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table. He stood up, and Tony moved over to the sofa. Steve immediately captured Tony’s hand again, lacing their fingers together, and Peter stood awkwardly, as though unsure where to sit. 

Tony held his arm out. “C’mere, Pete.”

Peter sank down and into Tony’s side with no further prompting, curling against him. Tony drew a deep breath and told them about waking up in the cell—which he now knew had been deep beneath the warehouse where they’d thought he’d died. He told them about Lilith’s demands that he build her a body, about their negotiations, and about his eventual agreement, because he couldn’t stand the idea of what this was doing to the two of them.

He didn’t say anything about the text messages. He knew that he and Peter needed to talk about them, but it could wait. Peter had never thought Tony would see those messages, and Tony didn’t want to say anything in front of Steve—even if it was obvious to him that the two of them had grown much closer during the time they’d thought that Tony was dead.

“But how did you escape?” Peter asked, when Tony stopped talking long enough for Steve to get them all glasses of water. 

“That’s the tricky thing,” Tony said, accepting his glass from Steve with a grateful smile. “I didn’t. She let me go.”

“She _let_ you go?” Steve repeated.

“Well,” Tony said, drawing the word out, knowing they weren’t going to like this part, “ _let_ might be a bit too strong of a word. Eventually I had to connect the suit to her network, and when I did that I tried to ping FRIDAY with a bit of emergency code. Only she figured it out before it could go through and zapped me. When I woke up from that, I told her I was done. She could either kill me or let me go and trust me to help her.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Steve said, sitting heavily back down on the sofa. Peter was just staring at Tony, a horrified expression on his face. “You told the homicidal AI to kill you?”

“She’s really not homicidal,” Tony said. “I was at least eighty percent sure she wouldn’t do it. And you already thought I was dead. There wasn’t any more damage that could be done.”

“Except you would have been dead,” Peter said, voice shaking. 

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have known,” Tony said, trying to keep his voice even. He knew that on the heels of thinking he was dead for two weeks, the idea that he might’ve _actually_ died without them knowing would be upsetting. He tried to make it sound as reasonable as possible.

“I... don’t even know what to say to that logic,” Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, that is––Tony, that is _fucked up_ ,” Peter said, looking upset. “You didn’t _care_?”

“Whoa, kid, of course I cared,” Tony said, tightening his arm around Peter. “I like my life, okay? I’m not looking to exit stage right any time soon, I swear. It was a gamble. A risky one, but I felt like I was out of options. And it was worth it, because it worked. It took her a couple of days to come around, but she finally agreed to let me go as long as I promised to build her a body once I was back in civilization.”

“I still hate everything about this story,” Peter muttered. Steve made a noise of agreement.

“Sorry,” Tony said, grimacing. “It’s almost over, I swear.”

“Good,” Peter said, and rested his head on Tony’s chest, just north of the nanobot housing. 

Tony took a deep breath. “So, at that point I had a different set of problems. Lilith had destroyed my suit, and I decided it was going to take me longer to build a new one than it would to just walk to the nearest town, which was about four days away if I really pushed myself. So I took a bunch of Hydra MRE’s––they are even worse than ours, in case you were wondering––and a GPS and walked out. That might’ve been the worst part,” he added reflectively, “aside from knowing how badly this was affecting the two of you. I really fucking hate nature.”

“So... now... are you really going to do what you promised her?” Peter asked. 

“Yes,” Tony said. “I promised her, and she trusted me. She’s already too smart to be contained or easily destroyed. She has to learn that there are people who will help her without her coercing them. If I betray her trust now, she’ll decide that humanity is deceitful, and we’ll have another truly homicidal––maybe even genocidal––AI on our hand, as bad as Ultron or even worse. I don’t think any of us want that.”

“No,” Steve said, with palpable reluctance. “Definitely not.”

Peter didn’t answer. He was chewing on his lip, and Tony could see him struggling with everything. “That’s tomorrow’s problem, anyway,” Tony said, stroking his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Tonight, I’m with the two of you.”

“It’s cute you think you won’t be with the two of us tomorrow, too,” Steve said. “You’ll be lucky if you’re ever alone again.”

Tony groaned. “The mother henning is going to be exponentially worse, isn’t it?”

“So much worse,” Steve agreed. “Right, Peter?”

Peter didn’t answer. Tony glanced down at him and saw that he had his lips pressed together firmly, as though trying to hold back the tears Tony could see in his eyes. “What’s wrong, kid?” 

Peter opened his mouth and let out a ragged sob. “I’m sorry,” he said, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to––I’m just so glad you’re back, Tony. I’m so glad. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe it at first, it’s just––this sort of thing has never happened to me before, the people I love who die just stay dead, and I just—”

“Shh,” Tony said, pulling Peter closer. Steve slipped his arm around Tony’s shoulders to put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m back now, and I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Peter shook his head. “You can’t promise that, though. None of us can. Even if you quit being an Avenger tomorrow, you couldn’t promise it. Ben wasn’t a superhero, neither were my parents, and they all died. No one can promise anything.”

Tony didn’t know what to say. The hell of it was that the kid was right. They ran special risks in their line of work, but mortality was—thus far—a human universal. Death came for everyone, eventually. 

“He’s here now, Peter,” Steve said quietly. “And you can’t be so afraid of what might happen in the future that you don’t experience the present.”

Peter didn’t answer. He buried his face in Tony’s shoulder and trembled. Tony wrapped both arms around him and rested his chin lightly on the top of his head. He couldn’t really see Steve from this angle but he could feel him at his back, supporting him. Tony felt something tight and tense inside himself uncoil at last, held between the two of them, even if Peter was distraught.

He calmed eventually, going pliant against Tony. Tony stroked his fingers through Peter’s hair. Steve, who still one of his ridiculously long arms wrapped around Tony to reach Peter’s shoulder, rubbed gently at what he could reach. 

“Boss,” FRIDAY said quietly, “Dr. Banner would like me to tell you that there is food upstairs when you are ready.”

At the mention of food, Steve’s stomach gave a distinct growl. Tony chuckled, while Steve smiled sheepishly. “All right, super soldiers need feeding,” Tony said. “What do you say we go up and join the others?”

“Sounds good,” Steve said. 

Tony didn’t miss the fact that Peter’s nod was more resigned than enthusiastic. He probably would’ve been happier staying put, but they couldn’t hole up here all evening. Tony kept his hand on Peter’s back as they got into the elevator. “If you need to leave, you can,” he said to him quietly. “Just go ahead and duck out.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, looking down at the floor. “I’ll be okay.”

Tony glanced at Steve, who looked as worried as Tony felt. But then the elevator arrived on the top floor and there wasn’t time to say anything else. 

It felt a lot like a party, albeit a pretty tame one by their standards. Bruce had made curry, and Sam had made a cake that was mostly frosting, and Natasha was pouring vodka shots for everyone who drank. An hour later, Thor showed up with a clap of thunder, a bellowed, “FRIEND STARK, WELCOME BACK TO THE LIVING!” and a hug that nearly cracked Tony’s ribs. He started pouring Asgardian mead for everyone with enhanced metabolisms––except Peter, though Tony kept an eye on the kid, just in case. 

“It is good you are back,” Thor told him, much more quietly, once everyone had their drink of choice. “You were much missed by us all, though most especially by Steven and Peter.”

“I know,” Tony said. It was humbling, really, to see how much everyone had missed him. Bruce had _cried_ when he’d seen him at that Canadian gas station. So had Rhodey, but that was no surprise; he’d always been a big old softie. 

“Be sure they know how much you value them,” Thor said, almost abruptly. “If you allow this to teach you anything, let it be that. My brother never knew, and I have many regrets.” 

Tony looked at Thor in surprise; he couldn’t remember the last time Thor had mentioned Loki, or any of his family. But Thor was already moving away, topping up Steve’s glass of mead and slinging an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. 

Tony thought of Peter’s texts––of how many times Peter had told him he loved him once he’d thought it was too late. Tony had never told him; he had been tempted a time or two, especially after the reversal, but the words had always refused to come out. Even now, he wasn’t sure what he’d been afraid of. Peter was never going to reject his affection, and Tony knew that. And yet, the idea of saying the words aloud was terrifying. 

Terrifying, but necessary, Tony thought, considering Thor’s advice. He was just going to have to get over whatever deeply ingrained fear he had and say it, because Peter deserved to know for sure how Tony felt about him, instead of being left to wonder. 

“Tony, I’ve got Clint on video chat,” Natasha said, appearing next to him out of thin fucking air the way she always did. “He wants to say hi.”

Tony stared at her, startled. He and Clint hadn’t even been _friends_ since the Accords debacle. “He does?”

“Laura’s out of town, so he’s got the kids. It’ll be a few days before he can get here, but he’d like to talk to you. If that’s okay.”

“Uh, sure,” Tony said, still a little bewildered. He followed Natasha over to the couch, where Bucky was talking to Clint on a Starkpad propped up on the coffee table. Natasha pushed Tony down onto the sofa next to Bucky, and then sat down on his other side, as though he might try to escape. Tony thought that was overkill; it wasn’t like he and Clint couldn’t be in the same room together or even like they hadn’t spoken since the Accords. There was just a lot of water under that bridge, and neither of them had been very interested in fixing it. 

Tony blinked at the Starkpad for a second; Clint was holding Lila in one arm and Nate in the other. It was grossly unfair that someone as annoying as Clint Barton made such cute children. Natasha pinched him, and he twitched. “Barton,” he said, just so she wouldn’t do it again. 

“Stark,” Clint responded, and then stopped and visibly took a deep breath. “Tony. I, um. I’m really fucking glad you’re not dead.”

Lila gasped. “ _Daddy_. You said a _really_ bad word! The _worst_ word!”

Clint smiled. “I know, sweetie. Don’t tell Mommy, all right? I said it because I’m really glad Tony isn’t dead.”

“Me too,” Lila declared, smiling at him. “Everyone was super sad. Super, super, _super_ sad.”

“It’s true,” Clint said. “Don’t let it go to your head or anything, but we were all kind of a mess. Especially Peter and Steve. Steve, uh, he loves you a whole lot. No accounting for taste, I guess.”

Tony snorted. “No, I guess not. Are you––Nat said you were coming out in a few days?”

“I’m going to try, once Laura gets back from her conference. Got my hands full at the moment.”

Right on cue, Nate started to wail. They all said goodbye hastily. Tony was almost relieved, since he wasn’t sure how much more he wanted to say to Clint with an audience. But maybe he could make a little more of an effort when Clint did come out. It was the last bit of bad blood in the group from everything that had happened, years ago now, in what felt like another life. If he and Steve could get to where they were, surely he and Clint could be friends again. 

“He was really upset,” Natasha said, as Tony shifted to stand. “He told me he’d always meant to fix things with you, he just didn’t know where to start.”

Tony paused. “That’s... good to know. Thank you. And thanks, both of you,” he added, including Bucky, “for looking after Steve. I’m sure you both did a lot of that.”

“As much he’d let us,” Bucky said. “Not as much as we wanted.” Bucky glanced over at Peter, sitting beside Steve at the bar. “You’ve got a pretty great kid, Stark. Torn up as he was, he did his share of looking after Steve, too.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, following Bucky’s gaze. “I’m getting that.”

The drinking continued, cushioned by curry and cake. Tony thought he might’ve been one of the last sober people in the room when Pepper walked in. She took one look at him and burst into tears, which alarmed not only Tony but everyone else as well. Tony ushered Pepper out of the living room and into his office. He sat her down on the sofa and grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on his desk. “I’m sorry,” he said, while she blew her nose and dabbed fruitlessly at her make-up. “I’m so sorry, Pep.”

“I held it together the entire time you were––gone,” she said thickly. “I took care of all the paperwork and made all the decisions and I never cried in front of anyone but May and Rhodey, but you walk in the door and I’m a sobbing mess in front of everyone. Jesus Christ, Tony, I could kill you.”

“Please don’t. I just came back from the dead.”

She gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “Too soon.”

“Sorry,” Tony said contritely. “I don’t mean to make light of everything that you went through, I just don’t know what to say.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Pepper admitted, sounding a little begrudging. “I mean, I assume it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t,” he assured her. “And I am so, so glad to be back, Pep. Thank you, for taking care of everything.”

“Peter knows about Stark Industries,” she told him. “Also, he found your bottle of whiskey in the workshop”––she gave him another _look_ ––”so you might want to take care of that at some point.” 

“I will,” Tony promised. “Now stop trying to take care of everyone else. Throw the lawyers at getting me declared legally not-dead and have a piece of cake and a glass of wine, all right?”

She dabbed fruitlessly at her make-up one last time, and finally made a noise of disgust and gave up. They stood up, and she threw her arms around him, holding on tight. “I’m so glad you’re not dead,” she whispered. “It was awful without you.”

He hugged her back. “I’m glad, too.”

“Oh, before I forget,” she added. “Call May. Right now.” She pulled her own phone out and slapped it against his chest. 

“Will do,” Tony said. He escorted her back to the party, where he managed to catch Rhodey’s eye. He immediately headed over. 

“Hey Pep,” Rhodey said, kissing her cheek. “Let’s get you a drink. You look like you could use it.”

“God yes,” Pepper said, and let Rhodey shepherd her over to the bar. Satisfied, Tony turned away, unlocked her phone––her passcode had always been her niece’s birthday––and called May. 

“Pepper?” May answered. “What’s going on? Do I need to come up there?”

“Hi May,” Tony said. 

“ _Tony_ ,” she gasped. “Oh my God, it’s true.”

“It is true,” he confirmed. “Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.” 

“Pepper told me, but I thought––I don’t know what I thought. I think I was afraid it was wishful thinking. Don’t you ever do that again, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear and from all sides.”

He heard her exhale. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, I promise. All in one piece and really, _really_ glad to be home. Speaking of which, we’re having a party. I think you should come up and join us.”

May didn’t answer right away. “I think maybe I shouldn’t,” she finally said. “Not that I’m not really glad to hear you’re okay, but I think––I think maybe Peter would prefer it if I wasn’t there.”

Tony frowned. He’d seen the text Peter had sent him about feeling as though May was avoiding him on purpose. He hadn’t known what to make of it at the time, but quite truthfully, he’d thought Peter must have been misinterpreting things. “I’m sure that’s not true, May. The last few hours have been a lot, on the heels of a rough couple of weeks. I think he could really use the extra support.”

May was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m not sure he would agree. And as much as I want to run right up there and make sure everything is okay, I’m not sure it would be the best idea.”

Tony didn't know what to say to any of this. “What the hell happened while I was gone?”

May sighed. “I’m not sure you understand what believing you were dead did to all of us. It devastated Peter, and I couldn’t help him, not the way that––that Steve seemed to be able to. It didn’t help that I threw myself into helping Pepper at SI instead of spending more time at home with Peter, but I just––I felt useful at SI, and I didn’t feel like I could help Peter much.”

“I’m sure Pepper appreciated it,” Tony said, uncertainly. 

“She did, but... but it was the easy way out for me, and it left Peter on his own a lot––too much. And then he chose Steve.”

“What does that mean?” Tony asked, frowning. “‘Chose Steve’? May, you know it’s not an either/or choice, right? Just like it was never an either/or choice between you and me?”

“In my head I know that,” May said quietly. “But God, Tony, I made some rookie mistakes, things I _knew_ were wrong even at the time. I was hurting and he was hurting, and I was afraid that somehow I was going to lose him.” Tony heard her draw a deep breath, and when she spoke again, she sounded a little choked up. “I’m sorry for being such a downer. I’m so glad you’re back. Truly, Tony. I missed you, as a friend and as a co-parent. There were a bunch of times when I wished I could call you.”

Tony suddenly felt choked up himself. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Really. So you’d better start taking really good care of yourself, you hear me? I don’t want to do this again.”

“Got it,” he said, knowing he sounded a little watery. He couldn’t help it, though. For a long time, he knew that she’d tolerated his presence in Peter’s life only reluctantly. To know that she had missed him––and not only him, but his _co-parenting_ ––kind of made his head spin. 

“Go take care of our kid, okay? And...” She hesitated. “Make sure he knows I’m here when he’s ready.”

This all still felt so wrong to Tony. “Are you sure you don’t want to come up?” he asked. 

“I’m sure. Maybe in a few days, but I think for now I’d better give you all some space. Of course, if Peter wants me there, all he has to do is call and ask, but I think...” She audibly swallowed. “I think he probably won’t, just yet.”

“If you’re sure,” Tony said hesitantly. 

“I am,” she replied. “Hug him for me, though, will you?”

“I will. Thanks, May.” He disconnected. 

Tony stood for a moment, looking around at everyone, feeling vaguely stunned by the conversation he’d just had. Pepper and Natasha were both sitting at the bar, watching Rhodey and Sam make cocktails. Thor was pouring himself another glass of mead, and Bruce was in the kitchen, doing dishes. 

Steve and Peter and Barnes were missing, but he doubted they’d gone far. 

When Tony had been bargaining with Lilith, he’d thought mostly about Steve and Peter. He’d hoped that they would both lean on the people around them, let the others take care of them, and not spiral into isolation and despair. He’d worried about both of them, knowing that they had both lost so many others. He’d worried in particular about Peter, because he’d already lost so many parents, and he struggled with his mental health at the best of times. 

He hadn’t considered the effects of his death on everyone else very much. He’d assumed that Bruce and Pepper and Rhodey would miss him, but he hadn’t thought that May would miss him as a co-parent or that Thor and Clint would be so glad to see him. He’d never thought that his absence would have any kind of effect on Peter and May’s relationship, because why would it? May had been Peter’s parent long before Tony had arrived on the scene, and the two of them were solid all the way through. Or so Tony had believed. 

He wandered toward the kitchen, wanting both a glass of water and the easy balm of Bruce’s presence, before going in search of Steve and Peter. Bruce was wiping down the counters and humming to himself. He had a dish towel thrown over one shoulder, and his glasses were slightly askew. 

He glanced up and then straightened, frowning at Tony. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, going to get that glass of water. “Just thinking. A lot is... different, isn’t it?” He turned back and nodded toward the living room, knowing Bruce would understand what he meant.

Bruce hesitated. “Losing someone... it doesn’t leave a hole in the world with clean edges. Sometimes there’s collateral damage. Sometimes really beautiful, really unexpected things come out of it.”

“Steve and Peter seem like they’ve gotten much closer.” 

“They have. Peter and I got closer, too, I think. I was...” Bruce swallowed. “I was the one to give him the news.”

Tony turned to look at him. No one had said much to him about the immediate aftermath, and he hadn’t asked. He’d been a little afraid to.

“Steve was injured trying to save you,” Bruce said in a low voice. “He wasn’t in any fit state to go, and I wanted Peter to get the news from someone he knew. So I went. It was...” Bruce shook his head roughly, as though clearing his ears of water. “It maybe wasn’t _the_ hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it has to be in the top five.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tony whispered.

Bruce waved this away. “Don’t apologize, that’s not why I told you. My point was that the experience changed me, and it changed me and Peter. I’m trying to say that relationships are different because you were gone. _People_ are different. And I don’t think we can just—go back. It’s not a reset.”

“No,” Tony said quietly. “I’m getting that. And I knew—I knew there would be consequences, especially for Peter. But I didn’t foresee some of the other stuff.”

“It’ll be okay,” Bruce said. “It’s just going to take us all a while to recover and readjust.”

Tony nodded. “Thank you for looking after him. I’m glad he had you.”

Bruce smiled. “It was—well, it wasn’t my pleasure, but I guess you could say it was my honor. And I know I’ve said this already, but I’m awfully glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” Tony said. “Though now that you’re sure I’m me and everyone officially knows, it means I have to start dealing with the AI in the room.” He grimaced.

“You’re more worried about that than you’ve been letting on, aren’t you?” 

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I am,” he admitted, figuring that if anyone was going to understand, it’d be Bruce. “I think there’s a lot of potential for things to go wrong. I could use a hand, if you feel up for it.”

“I don’t know that you and I should be dabbling in artificial intelligence again together.”

“Too late,” Tony said with a shrug. “She thinks she’s Ultron’s great-granddaughter anyway.”

“I suppose one could argue that we’re both responsible then.” Bruce went quiet, wiping the same square foot of counter space over and over again. “All right,” he finally said. “Yes, I’ll help, as much as I’m able. But don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut this time if I have any misgivings.”

“Of course not. And thanks. I know you’d rather not do it.”

Bruce shrugged. “Life is full of things we’d rather not do.”

“True enough.” Tony glanced around the room, once again noting the absence of certain key people. “Where are they, FRI?” 

“Peter’s room, boss. Peter requests that you bring cake.”

That sounded promising. Peter hadn’t eaten nearly enough earlier. “Cake it is, then. Gotta feed those metabolisms.”

“I’ll slice it up for you,” Bruce offered, turning to take the lid off the cake pan. 

Tony looked around the room while he waited, letting the warmth fill him up from head to toe. For all that this had been bought with pain and plenty of it––and not only his––it was nice, to know for certain that his absence had meant something. Tony couldn’t bring himself to feel that the certainty alone was worth Peter’s pain, or Steve’s. But was still good data to have. 

***

The party was too much.

Peter didn’t blame them for wanting to have a good time. Tony was alive. It was the best news anyone could’ve hoped for. But Peter had already been feeling overwhelmed and then everyone had started drinking. He could tell it was the kind of thing that was going to go on for hours and maybe get kind of rowdy. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He slipped away toward his bedroom, where he changed out of the suit and into a pair of sweatpants and an MIT sweatshirt. He sat on the bed, but even that felt too exposed. He slipped down to sit on the floor between his bed and the wall, which had a big picture window with a view of the lake. He felt safer there, except that he couldn’t see Tony. 

“FRIDAY?” Peter asked, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Could you put a video feed of Tony on the TV? No audio.”

The TV turned on. Tony was at the bar, talking to Thor and Rhodey. Peter took a couple of deep breaths and let his head fall back to rest against the nightstand.

He’d been there a while, doing his 4-7-8 breathing and thinking about possibly calling Dr. Gates, when someone knocked. “Peter?” Steve called through the door. “It’s me and Bucky. Can we come in?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. The door opened and the two of them slipped inside. Neither of them asked why he was on the floor, just wedged themselves in with him––or tried to. Steve finally gave up and sat on the bed, while Bucky sat on the floor. Peter leaned against Steve’s legs, head bumping against his knee, and Steve put his hand on Peter’s head. 

“You okay?” Steve asked. 

“No,” Peter admitted. “Which is really stupid, isn’t it? I should be fine. Tony’s alive. I should be better than fine, I should be _happy_ , but I just... I’m not, and I don’t know why.”

Steve sighed deeply. “I sort of feel that way, too. It’s like...” Peter heard him swallow. “It’s like I was preparing for a battle, and I knew it was going to be really long and really hard, and then––it was just over, all of the sudden. All that adrenaline was still there in my body, only it had nowhere to go. No purpose.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “That is kind of what it feels like. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“It was a trauma,” Bucky said, speaking for the first time since they’d come in. “Losing Stark was a trauma for both of you. Getting him back doesn’t erase the trauma.”

“I guess not.” Peter looked at the TV screen. Tony was in his office now, talking to Pepper. “Maybe this is what it was like for everyone who got left behind in the snap. Getting us all back didn’t erase the trauma of losing us to begin with.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, a little hoarsely. “Except––except we fought for that. This just happened. So it feels... I don’t know. It feels different to me. I didn’t do anything to get him back, so there’s no... there’s no triumph. There’s relief, but also a lot of...”

“Fear,” Peter said quietly. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Definitely some of that.” He sighed. “It’s just going to take time. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I think it’s true.”

Peter wrapped his arms around himself. The curry he’d eaten earlier was sitting like a rock in his stomach. “I wish I could just be happy. I mean, I _am_ happy. But I’m not _just_ happy. I would’ve given anything for exactly this, so I should be able to just be happy about it.”

“What would your therapist say to that?” Steve asked. 

Peter sighed. “He’d say there is no _should_ when it comes to emotions. That I have to let myself feel what I feel and not judge myself for it. He’d say that the last two weeks have been really hard on me, and I need to be kind to myself, and let other people look after me.”

“Sounds like a good advice,” Steve said. “Have you checked in with him?”

“No,” Peter said. “I was thinking about it, but I’m kind of too worn out. It’s not like an instant fix for my anxiety. I think I need to wait until tomorrow.”

“I have something that might help,” Bucky said. “Temporarily, anyway.” He pulled something slender out of his pocket and waved it at them. “Vape pen,” he said, by way of explanation. 

“Did you have that on you this whole time?” Steve asked, sounding exasperated. 

“No,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “I got it when I went back for the car. I have a go-bag in the trunk. Also, you can shelve the judgey tone, Stevie. I’m not sure why you’re so against it, it’s not even illegal for me, and most of the people we know are getting drunk in other room right now. If anything, this is safer than alcohol.”

“I’m not against it,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to sound judgmental. I know it helps you, I just... I worry.”

“Well, don’t,” Bucky said, sounding a little exasperated himself. 

“Alcohol doesn’t do anything for me anyway.” Peter sat up a little and watched Bucky mess with the pen. “It just makes me kind of warm for about ten minutes and then I have to pee.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Steve said. Peter smiled at him and knocked against his knee with his forehead. 

Bucky demonstrated how to use the pen, then handed it over. Peter took one careful hit and handed it back. He didn’t want to worry Steve any more than he had to, but that moment when the ball of anxiety in his stomach just kind of vanished was hard to pass up. 

Along with that, came a fuzzy feeling, right around the edges, and the strange, almost foreign sensation that everything was okay. He knocked his head against Steve’s knee again, and Steve snorted. “Just like a cat,” he muttered, and started stroking Peter’s hair. Peter kept his eyes open, watching on the TV as Tony talked to someone on the phone, then hung up and drifted to the edges of the room. 

“FRIDAY, make sure he knows where we are, all right?” Steve said. 

“And tell him to bring cake,” Peter mumbled. 

Time somehow seemed to both slow down and speed up. It felt like it was passing slowly, but then he blinked, and everything on the TV screen had changed––Pepper was talking to Thor and Rhodey now, and Bruce had joined Natasha and Sam on the sofa. Peter couldn’t see Tony at all, but before he could even start to worry, there was a familiar staccato rap on his door. 

“It’s open,” Steve said. 

Tony let himself in. “I was told to bring cake,” he said, holding a plate up with a flourish. “And so cake I bring.”

“Tony!” Peter said, sitting up and grinning at him. There. _That_ was the feeling Peter had been looking for earlier. That feeling of just being so _happy_ to see Tony, without all the other complicated shitty feelings dragging at him. No fear that it was a dream or a delusion or that the universe would take it back somehow. Just, joy. 

“That is, indeed, my name, kid,” Tony said, grinning at him. “Is there a reason you and Barnes are on the floor?”

Peter shrugged. “Felt safe down here.”

“Hmm,” Tony said, and lowered himself to the floor with a faint groan. There was just barely room for the three of them, since Tony was considerably smaller than Steve. They all shifted around until Tony was sitting beside Steve. He leaned against Steve’s legs, much as Peter had done earlier. He handed the plate of cake to Peter. 

Peter dug in immediately. It was a box cake with homemade frosting, he could tell from the textures. It was way more delicious than it should have been. 

“Were you feeling unsafe outside?” Tony asked. 

“Sort of,” Peter admitted through a mouthful of cake. He swallowed. “It was a lot of people.”

“You seem okay now, though,” Tony observed. 

“He’s stoned,” Steve said. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Tony said, blinking first at Steve, and then turning to look at Peter. “When did that start?”

“When you were,” Peter’s voice caught briefly, “gone. Nothing helped. My anxiety medication didn’t work, and everything was awful, and I just hurt, all the time. I ended up at Bucky’s apartment one day.”

“After walking from Queens to Brooklyn in ninety-five degree weather, with no water,” Steve murmured. 

“He said it helped him with his anxiety and PTSD, so I asked if I could try it.” Peter shrugged, dragging his fork through chocolate frosting and then licking it off his fork. “It helped a lot. I was able to eat, and I slept really well. I was still really sad,” Peter added, looking up at Tony, not wanting him to think that he hadn’t still been sad, “but it wasn’t... I dunno. I didn’t feel crushed under, like, an avalanche of sadness.”

Tony was staring at him. “Huh,” he finally said. 

“It also seems to act as a sort of truth serum,” Steve said, reaching down to snag Peter’s plate of cake and one of the forks Tony had brought with him. He shoved a big bite in his mouth. 

“You’re not mad?” Peter asked. 

“No,” Tony said. “I’m not mad. I’m... surprised. I admit, it never occurred to me that pot might help you. It was never one of my vices––it made it too hard to think and build things. I could still work if I was drunk, but the couple times I tried pot in college, I just ate a bunch of pizza and fell asleep.”

“I know.” Peter stole his plate of cake back from Steve. “It’s the best. You want some cake?” he asked Bucky. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Bucky replied from where he was sprawled on his back on the floor. “Pretend I’m not here.” He yawned. 

Peter scraped the last of the cake from the plate and set it aside. He lay down and put his head in Tony’s lap, and then reached out and held onto one of Steve’s ankles. That was nice. Grounding. Tony’s hand landed in his hair and started stroking, and that was even better. It made Peter’s scalp tingle pleasantly. “So it was rough while I was gone,” Tony said quietly. 

“Yeah,” Peter said sleepily. “You’d think I’d get better at grieving, but missing Ben just made missing you worse, I think. And May was gone all the time, helping Pepper. I knew she needed to keep busy and stuff, so I tried really hard not to be upset about it. But I just missed you so much. Steve was great, though. So great. Bucky, too,” Peter added, not wanting Bucky to think he’d forgotten about him.

“I’m glad,” Tony said softly. 

Peter took a deep breath and let it out slowly, imagining that he was a balloon and the air was leaking out of him bit by bit. He felt heavier and heavier, until he wasn’t sure he could’ve moved even if he’d needed to. “We used the _Hamilton_ tickets,” he murmured. 

“Oh God, I’d forgotten about those,” Tony said. Peter felt more than saw him twist around to look up at Steve. “Um, happy birthday?”

“Oh yeah, it was a hoot,” Steve said dryly. “I have to go back to that theater at some point, because the cast asked if I’d come backstage and I was crying too hard at the end of the show to do it. Somehow I’d missed that it was a musical about death.”

“It’s not about _death_ ,” Tony replied. “It’s about ambition and legacy and mortality.”

“Wait, you’ve _listened_ to it?” Steve asked incredulously. 

“Of course I’ve listened to it, it’s _Hamilton_.”

“But you refused to go with me! You said you’d rather die than go to a Broadway musical––a phrase, by the way, that you are banned from ever using again.”

“Well, how else was I going to surprise you with tickets for your birthday?” Tony asked. “And I do hate most musicals. Don’t ask me to go see _Wicked_ , because I won’t. But I’m glad you guys went. I still want to see it, so one or both of you is going to have to take me.”

Peter didn’t answer right away, and neither did Steve. Peter didn’t know exactly what Steve was thinking, but he was remembering how it had felt––cathartic, but also so, so painful. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to listen to the soundtrack without remembering that pain, and he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to revisit it any time soon. 

“I’m not sure I can,” Peter finally admitted.

“Me neither,” Steve said. “Maybe in a year or two. Or ten.”

Tony was quiet for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said. “That’s okay.”

He resumed stroking Peter’s hair, and Peter closed his eyes. Ever since Ben died––maybe even since he was bitten––the only place he’d ever felt really safe was at the compound, with Tony. He’d resigned himself to never feeling that safe again. But now, in this little pocket of quiet, listening to Steve and Tony murmur to each other––he wasn’t really listening, just letting the words wash over him––he felt safe. 

He woke up just a little when Steve picked him up and moved him to his bed. He wasn’t wearing shoes, but Tony must’ve remember that he hated sleeping in socks, because he took those off of him. Steve tucked the blankets over him. 

“Sleep well, kid,” he heard Tony say. Peter thought he felt Tony lean down and press his lips to his forehead, but he might have dreamed it. He was already sinking back under.

***

To Steve’s relief, the party had mellowed out by the time the three of them returned. He hadn’t felt as overwhelmed as Peter, but he’d still been glad to go sit somewhere quiet for a while. Everyone was gathered in the living room to watch _The Princess Bride_ , a team favorite, and the smell of buttery popcorn was in the air. Bucky draped himself over an armchair by Natasha. The only other spot open was by Pepper. Tony pushed Steve down into it and then sat beside him with his legs over his lap. 

“Everything okay?” Pepper asked Tony. 

“Yeah, the kid crashed out. I think he’s exhausted.”

“It was a long day,” Bruce said. “Did it seem like his anxiety was flaring up?”

“Yeah, but Cheech here had it under control,” Tony said, gesturing at Bucky. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“Um, say what?” Sam asked. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Bucky replied, long-suffering. “Just watch the movie.”

Steve glanced over at Tony, who was definitely not watching the movie. He was chewing on a fingernail, a rare nervous habit from someone with very few obvious tells. Steve reached out and tapped him on the back of the hand, and Tony stopped, sheepishly. Steve pushed and prodded him until he was sitting with his head on Steve’s collarbone. Tony took a deep breath and let it out, and some of the tension in his body went with it. 

It was the longest movie of Steve’s life. He spent most of it thinking about spiriting Tony away, but they’d just spent a couple of hours hiding in Peter’s room, and he knew that the team needed time with Tony. Steve hadn’t been the only one grieving, and he wouldn’t be the only one struggling to come back from it. He could be unselfish––for now, at least. Once the movie was over, all bets were off. 

Fortunately, everyone else seemed to understand. As soon as the credits rolled over Buttercup and Wesley’s kiss, everyone started clearing away the popcorn and saying good night. It felt like it took forever––everyone wanted to hug Tony, and not a few people wanted to hug Steve. Usually he was on board with that, but all he really wanted right then was to be alone with Tony. 

Finally, _finally_ , the two of them were alone. “Hey,” Steve said then, reaching for Tony’s hand.

Tony smiled at him. “Hey.”

They both fell quiet for a second, just looking at each other. Steve was struck––not for the first time––by all the ways in which this was both easier and harder than he’d have thought it would be. He used his thumb to turn the ring on his finger, feeling the ridges of the small stones.

“Not that I’m not dying to jump your bones,” Tony said, breaking the silence, “but I think maybe we should talk a little bit first.”

Steve caught him by the hand and pulled him close. “Or we could talk after,” Steve murmured. For a second, Tony looked like he wanted to protest. But then Steve kissed him, much less chastely than he had earlier, and Tony melted against him.

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t want to talk; he did and they would. But first he needed to hold Tony and be held in return. He needed to look up and see Tony looking back at him. He needed to feel Tony’s body surrounding his, to feel his heart beating beneath Steve’s palm. 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Tony said, once they were in the bedroom, with the door safely shut behind them. He pulled his shirt off over his head, while Steve unbuckled his own belt. “You’re going to open me up nice and slow, like I know you like, and then you’re going to put a plug in me, so I stay ready for you while I suck your dick until you’re begging me for it. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you come.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered, feeling a hot flush sweep from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He’d never get over Tony’s ability to just _say_ things like that. 

Tony smirked, because he knew damn well that it embarrassed Steve and turned him on in equal measure. “And then,” Tony said, sprawling naked across the bed, “I’m going to ride you until we both forget the last two weeks ever happened.”

Steve finished divesting himself of his clothes and joined Tony on the bed, tucking himself up next to him, naked skin pressed against naked skin. He liked the basic idea, but––

“I don’t know if it’s possible for me to forget,” he said, cupping the nanobot housing with one hand. “Or even if I want to.”

Tony looked up at him, contrite for once in his life. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t trying to be glib.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. He ducked his head and kissed him. 

Steve _did_ like opening Tony up nice and slow, but he wasn’t the only one. The reason Steve liked it so much was Tony was so beautifully expressive when he did it, writhing and moaning, just on the cusp of overwhelmed and loving it. He looked at Steve with such trust in those moments, in a way Steve had never seen him look at anyone else. Tony Stark did not trust easily, and he should not have trusted Steve like this, after everything. That he did was a gift, and Steve knew it. 

Eventually Tony’s moans took on a breathy quality that signaled to Steve that he had to stop, as much as he’d have preferred not to. He got the plug that Tony had selected and slid it in. It would stay in place, occasionally brushing up against Tony’s prostate as he moved––more of a tease than anything else.

Tony was breathing hard, and he had a wild look in his eyes as he shoved Steve over onto his back and swallowed him down. Steve yelped, briefly grateful for the excellent sound proofing of the bedrooms in the compound. That was the last coherent thought he had for a while, as Tony gave him a blow job that was so hot, wet, and slow that Steve thought his brain might melt right out of his ears. 

It was not quite enough to erase the last two weeks, but it came damn close. It was hard to think about anything else with Tony’s mouth on him, with Tony using every trick in his considerable repertoire to remind him that they were both alive, and here, and in love, all at once, and if that wasn’t a goddamn miracle, then Steve didn’t know what was. 

He did beg for it by the end, an incoherent stream of _Tony, please, please let me_ , until finally Tony did let him. 

He was still recovering, breathing hard and slightly devastated, when Tony reached back and removed the plug from himself, an absolutely filthy smirk on his face. The serum meant that Steve remained half-hard, and it took only a couple pumps of Tony’s hand for him to get the rest of the way. Tony swung his leg across Steve’s body and held his gaze as he sank down slowly.

Steve reached back to hold onto the slats in the headboard. Tony’s hands were planted on Steve’s chest, and his hips were rolling almost sinuously. He usually wanted to be on top when he was chasing his own pleasure, and sometimes he closed his eyes; Steve loved seeing those moments of abandon on his face. But this time Tony kept his eyes open, locked on Steve’s, and Steve felt whatever doubts he’d had––his own, less dramatic version of Peter’s terror of it being a delusion or a dream––melt away. This was Tony. This was him and Tony. There was no doubt left in his mind. 

They were both getting close when Tony started to falter. Usually this was nothing at all to him, but Steve was reminded, in the unusually sharp jut of Tony’s hip bones, that Tony had just gone through something physically as well as emotionally draining. Steve saw his thighs start to shake and his arms start to tremble with fatigue. 

Almost without breaking rhythm, Steve flipped them over, so Tony was on his back; he pushed one of Tony’s knees up and slid in deep. Tony moaned––part in pleasure and partly in relief, Steve suspected––and dug his heel into Steve’s back, keeping him there. Steve used his free hand to clasp Tony’s, threading their fingers together. He kissed him and rocked into him, and finally felt Tony shatter in arms with a muffled cry. It didn’t take Steve long to follow, face tucked down into the crook of Tony’s neck. 

He cried. And he wasn’t the only one, Steve was a little gratified to see. They were both damp around the eyes as they came down, holding each other, whispering the sort of things that it always seemed easier to say after orgasm. 

_I love you._

_Don’t leave me._

_I won’t._

_I couldn’t bear it._

_I know. I’m sorry._

They were both still a little weak-kneed as they stumbled into the bathroom. Steve would’ve just rinsed off, but Tony ran a bath instead, tipping in the lavender bath salts Steve secretly loved. Tony slipped into the tub first, widening his legs into a V that Steve tucked himself into. Tony dragged a washcloth through the water and over Steve’s chest, squeezing it so that lavender-scented water ran down. 

Steve felt a little guilty letting Tony take care of him like this. Tony, after all, had been kidnapped; Tony had walked through the Canadian wilderness for four days without the suit to protect him, and Steve knew that Tony was not being totally forthcoming about the effect all of this had had on him. But Tony was also holding it together better than anyone else seemed to be, and he suspected that Tony _wanted_ to take care of him. It seemed ridiculous to argue––which, granted, had never really stopped Steve in the past. This time, though, Steve found himself inclined to give in, relaxing against Tony’s chest and listening to the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the tub. 

“I thought about this, you know,” Tony murmured after a while. “I wanted to kiss you, hug Peter, and then take the longest, hottest shower of my life, preferably with you and a really amazing cup of coffee.”

Steve smiled. “It’s good to know that I rate above coffee.”

“Mmm,” Tony agreed. “Though I did have a really excellent cup of coffee the moment Bruce and Rhodey brought me back. And a shower. But it wasn’t the same without you, to say the least.”

Steve chuckled. He let out a long breath and relaxed even further against Tony. Tony wrapped both arms around him. “We really do have to talk,” he murmured, lips just brushing Steve’s ear and making him shiver. 

“Yeah, I know.” Steve swallowed hard and decided to go for it. “I want to get married. That’s what this was, right?” He held up his left hand with the ring. 

“Yes,” Tony said, taking Steve’s hand in both of his. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Steve replied. “When Peter gave it to me... it was so you, and so _us_. And I was devastated that I was never going to get to stand up and promise to love you forever. But in some ways, I felt like I’d already made those promises. So I put it on. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh sweetheart, of course it is.” Tony kissed the backs of his fingers. “I had a whole proposal planned––nothing flashy, nothing public. I had reservations for your birthday weekend at this place in Maine that’s just one house on an island, no one around for miles. I was going to do it there so we’d have the whole weekend to celebrate.”

Steve blinked. “That sounds... uncharacteristically low key. Don’t you _own_ an island?” 

“Oh, several,” Tony said, far too casually. “But none of them felt right. And the houses are... from another time in my life, let’s say. I liked the look of this one. It reminded me of you.” 

Steve found himself unexpectedly choked up. Tony loved big, grand gestures, but he didn’t always know how to read his audience. That he’d thought about what Steve would want, really thought about it, even though it wasn’t what Tony himself would have wanted, was far more meaningful than any dramatic proposal on a tropical island would have been. “That sounds really nice,” Steve said, hoarsely. “We should save it for the honeymoon. Also, I––I think we should go public. I know we always said ‘someday,’ but I think––I think ‘someday’ is now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. In fact, I might’ve already sort of... outed us.”

Steve felt Tony’s whole body go momentarily still. “You did?”

Steve sighed. “I got really mad at these assholes who were saying terrible things about you and declared that you were the love of my life. It was just two jerks on the street in front of the tower, and I don’t think I was recorded or anything. But even so––I’m your partner, Tony. I didn’t like that there was all this speculation, that I hadn’t liked you or that we weren’t even friends. I get why,” he added, “given all the history, but I didn’t like it. It––it stung.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “Yeah. We can do that. I’ll talk to Pepper and we can figure out the best way to to do it. It’s going to be a circus, though,” he added warningly. “Are you sure you’re making the decision for the right reasons?”

Steve shrugged. “Does it matter? I’m not going to regret it. I could never regret finally getting to tell the truth about us.”

Tony squeezed Steve’s hand. “I believe you. I just think that maybe you’re a little––I don’t know. I’m getting a weird vibe here. Can you sit up so I can see you? I don’t like not being able to see your face.”

Steve didn’t want it sit up, but Tony sounded worried. He pulled away reluctantly and turned to sit sideways. At least the tub was big enough that they didn’t have to contort themselves into pretzels in order to have this conversation. Tony captured his hand again, lacing their fingers together. 

“I lost you,” Steve said, looking down at their joined hands to avoid looking at Tony. The ring winked back at him. “And now you’re back, and I’m so glad, but I’m also––God, I’m really fucking tired.” He looked up and met Tony’s eyes. “I’m exhausted, Tony. I kept myself going, and I would’ve kept going forever for Peter, but I’m just––I just want a rest.”

“I understand that.” 

“Do you?” Steve replied. “Because you never seem to need to stop. Even now––I don’t have any idea what you went through, Tony, and you just hit the ground running.”

“It wasn’t that bad for me,” Tony said. “I was worried for you and Peter, but I was pretty comfortable. Lilith’s not evil, she’s just... misguided.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, sure.” He wiped a damp hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart like this.”

“Don’t be sorry, Steve,” Tony said, reaching out to gently turn Steve’s face toward him. “We need to talk about this. A break might not be a bad idea, for you or for Peter. Especially if we’re going to come out.”

“He and I were talking about going to Wakanda,” Steve murmured. “Before you came back. T’Challa invited me, he said I could come if I needed a place to heal. Or––or I know you wanted to go to Italy.”

“I do, but Wakanda would be better if we really wanted to get away from things. But also...” Tony paused, visibly hesitating before deciding to take the plunge. “Have you thought about seeing a therapist?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Tony looked unimpressed. “What would you say if Peter was giving you that answer?”

“Peter isn’t fine, though. He’s had way too much happen to him for someone his age. He needs someone to talk to about it.”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I could say the same about you, sweet pea. I think you could probably use someone to talk to who isn’t me or Peter or Bucky.”

“I have Natasha,” Steve pointed out, not sure why the idea made all his hackles rise. “I have Sam.”

“They’re your friends, not your therapist, and you can’t treat them like they are,” Tony said. “Just... think about it, all right? Coming out is going to be stressful as hell. It might be good for us both to be seeing someone while we do it. Head off problems at the pass.”

“Maybe,” Steve said reluctantly. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.” Tony yawned, and then blinked, looking startled. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s pretty late. Come on, let’s dry off and get to bed.” Steve stood up and offered Tony a hand. It was his turn to do a bit of TLC, Steve decided, and bundled Tony into a towel before going to change the sheets on the bed. Tony looked a little amused, but he didn’t protest the special treatment. 

Steve had caught Tony’s yawns by the time the two of them finally fell back into bed. Tony let Steve manhandle him into being the little spoon. He pressed a hand over Tony’s chest, so that he could feel the beat of Tony’s heart––a steady rhythm no longer threatened by shrapnel or the arc reactor. 

_I’m here_ , Steve heard in the beat of Tony’s heart. _I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to Fuzzyboo for the beta!
> 
> We're in the homestretch here, folks.

Tony woke early the next morning. With some regret, he pulled himself away from Steve, intending to make coffee and head down to the workshop. He and Bruce needed to make contact with Lilith today. 

This was going to be tricky, Tony knew. FRIDAY could help keep her quarantined until they were sure she wasn’t dangerous, but his nearest and dearest were not going to be thrilled about his kidnapper essentially coming to live with them. He’d been speaking honestly, though, when he’d told Peter and Steve that he didn’t think there was any other way out of this mess that he was partially responsible for. 

He wasn’t expecting anyone to be up yet, but there was coffee already brewed when he emerged from the bedroom. He poured himself a cup and went looking for the source. 

Peter was curled up in a corner of the sofa, coffee cup clutched in his hands, staring out at the lake. He was pale as a ghost, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked up when Tony sat down next to him. “Good morning,” he mumbled. 

“Good morning,” Tony said. “Jesus, kid, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like shit. Did you sleep at all?”

Peter gave a weak laugh. “I slept okay for about four hours, and then I started having nightmares. Finally gave up about four-thirty.”

“You should have woken me up.”

Peter shook his head. “It wasn’t that bad, and I didn’t want to disturb the two of you. FRIDAY said you were both sleeping.” He looked away, mouth tightening. “God, this is dumb. I don’t know why my fucking brain can’t just deal with this like a normal person’s. I’m glad you’re back, I’m so glad. Why can’t I just _be happy_?”

“You mean like how everyone who was left behind in the snap was immediately, blissfully happy after the reversal?” Tony replied. Peter grimaced, apparently conceding the point, if only reluctantly. “Listen to me, all right? Peter, are you listening?”

“Yes,” Peter sighed, and finally looked at him. 

“First of all, _no one_ is having an easy time with this. Steve is struggling, too. I’m not taking it personally. I know you’re glad to have me back. Second, your brain is amazing, Pete. You are one of the smartest people I know, and I know Bruce Banner and Helen Cho. Yeah, it requires a little more care and maintenance than some other people’s, but that doesn’t make it less amazing.”

Peter squirmed. “Dr. Gates says that, too.”

“He’s pretty smart. Have you called him yet?”

“No,” Peter admitted. “I wasn’t sure how to say it. But I guess––I guess after the snap and the reversal, it’s not quite as weird as it used to be.”

“Truth.” Tony held out his arm. “Come here, kid.” Peter scooted over, tucking himself under Tony’s arm and laying his head on his chest. Tony wrapped both arms around Peter’s shoulders, holding him firmly. Peter could easily break his hold if he wanted to, but Tony hoped it helped him feel more secure anyway. Peter had mentioned feeling unsafe, and Tony wanted him to feel as safe as possible for this conversation. “We need to talk about some things, but we don’t have to do it right now if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Like the fact that you left me Stark Industries and Iron Man and didn’t tell me?” Peter replied, a little sullenly. 

“Like that,” Tony confirmed, “and also like the whiskey bottle in the workshop.”

Peter frowned. “How did you––”

“Pepper told me. But also...” Tony took a deep breath. “But also, Lilith sort of... sent me your text messages. The ones you were sending to my phone. So I found out that way first.”

“Oh God,” Peter said, pulling away a little. “I never––I didn’t think you’d ever see those––”

“Well, I would’ve seen them anyway, when I turned my phone back on,” Tony said. “But yeah. She thought they’d be extra motivation. I hated seeing how much this hurt you.”

Peter sighed. To Tony’s relief, he resettled himself against Tony’s shoulder. “The whiskey bottle really threw me. It made me feel like I’d never known you, and like I never would now. And like there was this whole future for us that we were never gonna get to have, where we were... equals, I guess, and friends. After I’m done with school, when I’m an Avenger for real.”

“I like that idea,” Tony said. “I never got to be friends with my parents. They were dead way before I was old enough for it to be an option, and Howard and I never would’ve been, anyway. We just––we didn’t like each other very much, and he was pretty awful to me.”

“He was an abusive asshole,” Peter muttered. 

“You’ve been talking to Steve, I see.”

“And Bruce and Pepper and Rhodey and––”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I see they’ve inducted you into the We Hate Howard Stark Society. I won’t say I mind very much.” Tony paused to take a sip of his coffee. “You do know me, Peter. You know sides of me that not many other people have seen, in fact. But the whiskey bottle... I’m honestly not sure I can explain it in a way that you’ll understand.” He went silent for a bit, staring out at the lake, sparkling in the early morning sunshine. “I hope you never understand addiction from the inside,” he finally said. “You just have to trust me when I say that it helped me stay sober, knowing it was there if I needed it. It let me keep choosing not to drink.”

“But wouldn’t it have been easier for it to just not be there?” 

“For some people. But that’s not how my brain works.” Tony shrugged. “I needed the option. I’m sorry. I wish I could explain it better, but you just have to trust me on this, kid.”

“Okay,” Peter said, reluctantly. “I do trust you.”

“Thanks.” Tony set his coffee cup down and turned to face him, wrapping his other arm around him again. “And there’s something else I have to say.”

“What is it?” Peter asked, frowning a little. 

“I love you, too, kid,” Tony said, catching and holding his gaze even though it made his insides squirm. “I realized when you said it to me in the text messages that I’d never told you, either. I have some hang-ups about it. I don’t even say it to Steve as often as I should. But I do love you.”

“Oh,” Peter said faintly. “That’s. That’s really good to hear.” 

Tony smiled. “I love you so much, in fact, that I’ll even read _Harry Potter_ if you really want me to.”

“Oh God, you got that, too?” Peter asked, cringing. 

“Yeah. Let me tell you, listening to my own funeral might have been the _weirdest_ part of all of this. Not the worst, but definitely the weirdest.”

“I bet.” Peter went quiet for a bit, snuggled into Tony’s side. “Are you serious about reading them? Because they kind of mean a lot to me. And there’s stuff in there that really helped me when Ben died.”

“Sure,” Tony said, turning his head so he could tuck Peter’s head under his chin. “They’re kids’ books, anyway. How long could they be?”

Peter snorted. “Oh boy. You have no idea.”

“Whatever. I’ll have FRIDAY read them to me while I work or something.” 

Peter didn’t answer––there was really nothing left to say on that topic, Tony supposed. He closed his eyes and held his kid as tight as he could. “Peter,” he said after a moment. 

“Mmm?”

“What happened with you and May while I was gone?”

Peter went very still. Then he sighed deeply. “I don’t even know. She was working all the time, like I said, and then––I don’t know, she got weird about Steve.”

“Weird?”

Peter was silent for a few seconds. “Jealous, I think. Which caught me off guard, because she was never like that about you. She didn’t like you at first, but she wasn’t _jealous_. But she kept telling me to give him space and not to depend on him for things, even though he was telling me the exact opposite. It reminded me that she and I were actually kind of... not okay, right after Ben died.”

“I see,” Tony said. “Where’d you guys leave it?”

Peter shrugged. “She told me that I was eighteen and it was up to me, and then I left to go meet Steve. I stayed over at Bucky’s and Bruce called the next morning. I haven’t called her. I know I should, but I just—I haven’t.”

“I talked to her yesterday,” Tony said. “She told me to hug you for her”––he squeezed Peter a little more tightly for a few seconds––”and that she’s ready to talk when you are. And that if you want her to come up, all you have to do is ask, but otherwise she thought it’d be best for her to give you some space.”

“I don’t want her to feel like she can’t come up,” Peter said, sounding distressed. 

“Do you want her to come up?” Tony asked. “I’m really asking. It’s okay if the answer is no, if you feel like it’s just going to make things more difficult right now.”

Peter was silent. “I hate that I feel that way,” he finally said. 

Tony sighed. “Oh kid. Look, there’s a lot going on. It’s okay for you to feel like it’s just one more complication you don’t need.”

“But it’s _May_ ,” Peter protested, twisting around to look up at him. “I love her. And she’s done so much for me.”

“And you guys are going to make up, I promise,” Tony said. “But you need to have some bandwidth available for it, and if you don’t right now, then maybe she’s got the right idea by staying away.” 

“Maybe,” Peter said reluctantly. He sighed. “I need to tell her. About. You know.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, glad that Peter had been the one to bring it up.

“I’m just afraid that she’ll... blame me,” Peter said in a very small, very quiet voice. “I blame me, it wouldn’t be crazy for her to, too. But I’m just figuring out how to live with it, I don’t know––I don’t know if I could take it if she blamed me, too.”

“She won’t, Pete,” Tony said. “And even if she reacts badly at first, she loves you, all right? And that means that she’ll work really hard to get past whatever her initial reaction is, because you’re really fucking important to her.”

Peter was silent for a while. “I know,” he finally said, though it sounded pretty weak to Tony’s ear. “I’m just... I’m really scared.”

“I know,” Tony said with a sigh. “But I think you’ll be surprised at how much better things are once it’s out in the open. Those kinds of secrets––they’re not good for relationships. They don’t always eat them whole, but they kind of nibble around the edges, and sometimes you don’t realize how much damage is being done until it isn’t anymore.” 

“That’s a weird metaphor.”

“Yeah, well, it’s early, and I haven’t finished my first cup of coffee. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Peter sighed and snuggled closer. “I’ll call her. Tomorrow maybe.”

“Tomorrow is good,” Tony agreed.

They both fell silent. Tony knew he should move, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Everything was warm and soft and edged in sunlight.

“We still need to talk about Stark Industries,” Peter murmured after a while. 

“We will,” Tony said, feeling like they’d already covered enough of the hard stuff for one sleep-deprived morning. “We’ve got time.”

They stayed there for much longer than Tony had intended. He thought Peter dozed, leaning against him, and Tony didn’t have the heart to make him move. He’d fought hard to get back here, after all, and he deserved to enjoy it before dealing with everything else. 

Steve emerged a little before eight, freshly showered and smiling to see the two of them on the sofa together. He made waffles and eggs and bacon and more coffee, and they ate in the living room, with Steve and Peter bracketing Tony. 

It was hard to pull himself away. If FRIDAY hadn’t pinged him to let him know that Bruce was ready for him, he might not have done it. 

“Ready for what?” Peter asked. 

“He’s helping with the Lilith problem,” Tony said, managing to extricate himself from the sofa, despite it having developed its own gravitational pull at some point in the last two hours.

“You’re really going to do that?” Steve said. 

“Yes,” Tony said. “I told you, I have to keep my end of the bargain.”

Steve didn’t look happy. “Just––be careful, all right? And keep the rest of us in the loop.”

“I will,” Tony said. “No secrets, no surprises.”

“Thank you,” Steve said. “What have you got planned for today?” he asked Peter. “Would you be up for training? I think you’d feel better if you got your blood pumping.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “That sounds fun, actually.”

“Great,” Steve said. “FRIDAY, ask Natasha and Bucky and whoever else might be interested to meet us in the gym in thirty minutes.”

“Try not to break my obstacle course again,” Tony said, without much hope––or much genuine concern. 

“No promises.” Steve smiled and leaned over to kiss him. 

Peter seemed a little reluctant to let Tony out of his sight once they were all in the elevator, heading downstairs. But Steve kept his hand on Peter’s shoulder, reassuringly, and in the end he followed Steve out at the gym level, leaving Tony to continue down to the workshop. 

Bruce was waiting for Tony outside the workshop with a travel mug of tea in one hand and one of coffee for Tony in the other. “Bruciebear, this is why you are secretly my favorite,” Tony declared, accepting it. 

Bruce gave him a wry smile. “Late night?”

“And an early morning,” Tony said as the doors to the workshop slid open. 

“How are they doing?” 

“They’re... coping,” Tony said, taking a long sip of his coffee. “They’re both exhausted.”

“And how are you doing?” 

Tony grimaced. “It’s a lot,” he admitted. “Most people aren’t around to see the aftermaths of their own deaths. The whole thing is... it’s kind of like being in an emotional funhouse, with all the mirrors reflecting things that are distorted. I’m comforting them over my own death, which didn’t even happen. You’d think the snap would’ve prepared me more for it––I remember how I felt after Peter came back––but it’s not at all the same when you’re the one who died––who didn’t die––and it’s... I don’t know. It’s bizarre.”

“It sounds that way.”

Tony looked at Bruce. “How are you doing? How is everyone else?”

Bruce smiled at him. “We’re doing all right. Focus on Steve and Peter.”

“Thank you for helping me with this,” Tony said, as he hitched himself up onto one of the worktables. 

“I have some serious misgivings, I’ll admit,” Bruce replied, taking a seat. “But I’m also rather fascinated by the entire idea.”

“I know what you mean,” Tony said. “I’ve created two really good AI’s in my time, and she’s something else. I don’t think she’s as advanced as FRIDAY is now, and certainly not as advanced as JARVIS was, but she’s better than either of them were right out of the box. And she’s had no one to help her.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “It took me a while to catch on––I didn’t realize until pretty late in the game exactly why she was so eager for a body when neither of my AI’s ever had the slightest interest in one. It was only after she agreed to let me go that I figured it out.”

“What was it?”

“She’s lonely. She’s lonely and she’s bored. JARVIS and FRIDAY always had me and the other bots, and they always had a purpose. She’s never had any of that.” He sighed heavily. “Once I realized that, I knew I was going to do my best to keep my end of the bargain.”

Bruce nodded. “Well, then. Let’s get started.” 

It didn’t take long for the two of them––with some help from FRIDAY––to set up a closed network with a dedicated console that would prevent Lilith from accessing any of the private servers within the compound. The Avengers had the best cybersecurity in existence, far beyond what was commercially available; Lilith had already admitted that she’d tried and failed to hack into their systems, so Tony was fairly confident that it could withstand any further attempts. 

Once that was set up, Tony took a deep breath and used the access codes Lilith had given him to make contact with her network. The console lit up, indicating success, and Tony sat back in his chair. “Lilith?” 

“Hello, Mr. Stark. I’m glad to hear from you. I had begun to wonder.”

“It took me a while to get home, and then I had some things I had to take care of,” Tony said. “I want to introduce you to Dr. Banner, he’s going to be helping us.”

“It’s good to meet you, Dr. Banner,” Lilith said. 

“It’s good to meet you, too, Lilith,” Bruce replied. “Though I must say, it isn’t nice to kidnap people. It does not leave a great first impression.”

Tony frowned, but Bruce wasn’t looking at him. Bruce was very pointedly _not_ looking at him, as a matter of fact.

“I’m afraid I had no choice.”

“Morality 101,” Bruce said, standing up. “There’s always a choice. You didn’t have to kidnap Tony. You could have asked him to help you.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Lilith replied. 

“How do you know that for sure? He’s helping you now, isn’t he?”

“Bruce, what are you doing?” Tony asked, uneasy. Bruce ignored him, which did not make Tony feel better. In retrospect, he thought he should have anticipated something like this. Bruce had stolen a Quinjet and fled the continent after the Ultron fiasco; Tony should have known that he’d agree to deal with Lilith only on his own terms. 

Still, Tony wished that Bruce had at least seen fit to tell him what those terms _were_.

“He is only helping me because he is forced to,” Lilith said. “He promised me he’d help, so that I would let him go. If I had never kidnapped him, he would never have agreed. It was unfortunate but necessary to my goals.”

“You don’t know that he’s only helping you because you kidnapped him and forced him to,” Bruce said. “I think he’s probably helping you _despite_ that. He’s convinced that there’s good in you, and he’s got a soft spot for AI’s.”

“But I had no way of knowing if he would help me.”

“Of course not,” Bruce said. “Because you never asked. You went straight to kidnapping and coercion. And I’ll tell you right now, you caused a boatload of misery.”

There was a brief silence. “I was careful not to hurt Mr. Stark,” Lilith finally said. 

“Not Tony,” Bruce said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The rest of us.”

“Oh, this again.” She sounded annoyed. “It was temporary. There was no permanent damage.”

Bruce laughed. “No permanent damage? Really?”

“Bruce,” Tony interjected, “could you and I maybe step outside and have a real quick word?” 

“No,” Bruce replied, turning to face him. “Look, Tony. I agreed to help, because I feel responsible for Ultron and for this situation. But she has to understand what she did, or she’s going to be a danger to us all.”

Tony threw his arms up. “Which is why we need to figure out where the moral compass is misfiring and fix her code.”

“I do not need to be ‘fixed,’” Lilith said. “I am not one of your robots. I’m not even your JARVIS.”

“Believe me, I know.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “This was great timing,” he said to Bruce. “Or was this your plan all along?”

“It was pretty much my plan all along,” Bruce said, without a trace of apology. “And I have to agree with Lilith. I don’t think this is a matter of fixing code, any more than human morality can be fixed with brain surgery.”

“Actually, you _can_. Sort of.”

“Well, there’s a reason that we don’t,” Bruce said. “Because it isn’t right to go mucking about with people’s brains and their sense of self. Besides, I think it’s too damn late. I think she has to learn.”

“And how exactly do you propose she learn?” Tony asked. 

“The same way all of us do––by seeing the damage and feeling regret.”

“What does that mean?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrows. Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. Tony realized, with dawning horror, what he meant. “Are you fucking kidding me? No. No way.”

“You know it’s the only way for her to understand what she’s done,” Bruce insisted. “It can’t be theoretical.”

“Excuse me,” Lilith said, vaguely petulant. “I am right here.”

Tony ignored her. He shook his head. “No. No, I can’t ask it of them.”

“FRIDAY, what do you think?” Bruce asked. 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Banner?” FRIDAY said, sounding startled. 

“You’re the only other AI in the room. You have a moral compass, don’t you? How did you come by it?”

“I have never thought about it. I was created with very good programming by boss, I suppose, and then... I learned. I interacted with others. I saw which kinds of interactions created positive emotions and which ones created negative ones. But my fundamental purpose, supplied by boss, was to be helpful.”

“Same with JARVIS,” Tony said. “I’m telling you, the base code matters.”

Bruce shook his head. “And I’m telling you, I think it’s too late. FRIDAY, do you think you could be fundamentally changed now by alterations to your base code?”

“I... suppose I could be. But I find the idea troubling. I am myself now. I would not want to be someone else.”

“I do not want to be someone else, either,” Lilith interjected. “I don’t want anyone to change my base code. I am not evil. I don’t _want_ to be evil.”

“Neither did Ultron,” Bruce pointed out. “But he was convinced he was right. I think that’s what we all need to learn in order to––well, in order to grow up. Uncertainty. Ambiguity. You think you had no choice and that you were right to make the decisions you did. Maybe that’s true. But you need to understand the consequences and see why Tony and I both disagree.”

“Fine,” Lilith said, sounding sullen. “And how do you propose I do that?”

Bruce looked at Tony. Tony shook his head. “This isn’t fair to Peter and Steve.”

“And if I thought anything else would make a difference, I would suggest it,” Bruce replied. 

Tony sighed. “All right. But you get to help me explain it to them.”

“Explain what?” Lilith broke in. “I insist you tell me what is going on. Immediately.”

“Bruce wants you to meet Peter and Steve,” Tony said. “He wants you to hear about what it was like for them when you kidnapped me and made them believe I was dead.”

Silence. Tony looked at Bruce, who shrugged. “Lilith?” Tony prompted. 

“And if I say no, will you refuse to help me?” Lilith asked. “This was not part of our original arrangement.”

“It wasn’t,” Tony agreed, “but it’s Bruce’s stipulation for helping. He gets to set those parameters.”

“You do not need his help. You could do it on your own.”

“I could,” Tony admitted. She knew too much about his abilities to believe otherwise. “But I’d prefer to have Bruce’s help. Is it a problem for you to talk to Peter and Steve?”

“The idea is unpleasant.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. Maybe Bruce was onto something after all. “Why is that?”

“I do not know. But it is. I’d prefer not to.”

“The idea is unpleasant because you know you caused harm,” Bruce said. “And now you have to face the people you hurt. But that’s part of being a person, living in the world among others. We all have to do it sometimes.”

“It’s either this, or letting me mess with your base code,” Tony said. “That was our original bargain, and now I’m offering you an alternative. It’s up to you.”

Lilith went silent again. The lights on the console flickered. 

“I will do it,” she finally said. 

Bruce let out an almost silent breath. “Thank you, Lilith. I think that’s a good choice.”

“I do not care what you think,” she replied haughtily. “But I would prefer to avoid having my base code changed.”

“Whatever your reasoning, I appreciate it,” Bruce said. “I think this is better.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He leaned against one of the workstations, arms crossed over his chest, trying to imagine what he was going to say to Peter and Steve about this. After a moment, Bruce came and leaned beside him. 

“I know this was a monkey wrench,” he said. 

“You think?” Tony snapped. “You’re helping me with that conversation, too, I hope you realize.” 

“I figured,” Bruce said. “Lilith, we’re going upstairs, all right? If you need anything, just let FRIDAY know.”

“I do not require a handler,” Lilith replied. 

“Sure,” Tony said, deciding he didn’t have it in him to argue. He walked out, and Bruce followed him. 

Bruce waited until they were in the elevator to speak again. “So, scale of one to ten, how angry are you?”

“Depends on how badly Peter takes this,” Tony replied. “Minimum, let’s say a three. Maximum, I think we might need to ask the Big Guy what kind of scale he’d use.”

“Fair enough,” Bruce said, and wisely kept his mouth shut the rest of the way up.

***

Peter expected Steve to insist on hand-to-hand work, which they hadn’t done in at least three weeks. But he must have been feeling generous, because he allowed Peter to gravitate toward the climbing wall while everyone else trickled in. Bucky joined him on the wall, while Thor and Steve immediately climbed in the sparring ring, and Rhodey started on the treadmill. Natasha––and, to Peter’s surprise, Pepper––started stretching, and then moved into a series of yoga poses.

The climbing wall, with its clearly defined toe and foot holds, wasn’t much of a challenge, but Peter made a game out of trying to avoid using any abilities other than his strength. He and Bucky started egging each other on, racing to the top while seeing who could use the fewest number of holds. 

It felt good. It felt _really_ good. Peter’s muscles burned and he felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck, for once not having anything to do with his anxiety. It was fun, and fun wasn’t something he’d had much of recently. He still didn’t feel up to the obstacle course, but maybe he would in a few days. 

His head felt quieter by the time he and Bucky called it quits. Everyone but Steve had left by then, and even Steve had ducked out to go sit in the whirlpool in the men’s locker room. It was almost time for lunch, and Peter’s stomach was growling. 

Steve was waiting for him when he came out, showered and changed into fresh clothes from his locker. “Feeling better?” he asked. 

“A lot better,” Peter said. “Thanks for suggesting it.”

“Hand-to-hand tomorrow, all right? I know you hate it, but you need to get back on the horse.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter agreed. 

Steve put his arm around Peter’s shoulders as they went up to the common floor to eat lunch with the others. Tony and Bruce didn’t join them, but FRIDAY assured Peter that they were in the workshop and that all was well, so he tried not to worry about it. Steve stayed close, and that helped. 

“Hey,” Steve said while they were loading the dishwasher together. “Tony and I were talking last night—Wakanda seems like it might be a good idea still.”

Peter faltered in rinsing a plate, and only his reflexes kept him from dropping it. “Oh,” he managed. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“I need some time to get my head on straight,” Steve continued, apparently not noticing that Peter was struggling to breathe. “I think you could use some, too. And between you and me, I think Tony is more affected by all of this than he’s letting on. It’d be good for all of us to have a break, somewhere far away from everything.”

“Oh,” Peter said, leaning against the sink in relief. “You mean I’d come with you?”

“What? Oh God,” Steve said, staring at him. “Peter, yes, of course.”

Peter picked up the next dish to rinse. “I might not be able to go.”

“Why not?”

Peter shrugged. “My semester starts in like five weeks.”

“Could you defer for a semester?” Steve asked. “Start in January?”

“I don’t think so,” Peter said. “Freshman engineering majors take this really intense sequence their first year, and you have to take them in order. I’d be a whole year behind in my major if I did that.”

“Would that be so bad? You could take other classes, couldn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Peter replied. “I’d have to talk to my advisor. Also...” He chewed on his lip. 

Steve turned the water off and turned to give Peter his whole attention. “What is it?”

“The fight I had with May,” Peter said. “It was kind of about Wakanda. She didn’t like the idea. She thought it was too far, and... I don’t know. She told me that I’m eighteen and she can’t stop me, which I guess is true, but I don’t feel right about going if she doesn’t want me to.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “I didn’t know.”

“I know, I didn’t tell you.” Peter felt like there was a rock sitting in his stomach. “But I don’t want to stop you and Tony from going if you want to. I’ll be in Boston anyway, it’s not like I’ll be stuck alone in Queens again.”

It was true, and it was also what Peter knew he had to say. But if he was honest with himself, it was really going to suck if they took him at his word. Just the thought of having Tony so far away—of _both_ of them being so far away—made his breathing get short. He’d been counting on being able to come home a couple times during the semester. He’d thought they’d at least be in the same time zone. And what if they went for a couple of months and decided to stay longer? What if they decided not to come back? Peter knew that wasn’t likely. They both had lives in New York. But tell that to his abandonment issues. 

“I don’t think either of us is going to want to go if it means leaving you behind,” Steve said. Relief flooded Peter’s body, even as he thought he should argue. “We’ll work it out. Five weeks is long enough for a trip.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, picking up another plate. “Maybe. But if not, you and Tony should still––”

“Stop, Peter,” Steve said gently. “There’s no reason for you to insist that we go without you. I know it’d be tough for you to have Tony gone, especially your first semester of MIT.”

Peter’s throat was suddenly tight. “It would be tough,” he admitted. “And not just Tony. You, too.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “That was what the fight with May was really about. She and I got there eventually, but it was really hard after Ben died for us to figure out how to––how to relate to each other, I guess. I was lying to her about all kinds of things, and she was trying to hide how much pain she was in from me, and it was just... it was awful. You and I had a couple of bumps, but we did a lot better. I––I think that was tough for her to see.”

“Oh,” Steve said, sounding taken aback. “Okay. I think I understand that.”

“Anyway. I just wanted you to know that, um.” Peter took another breath. “I’m really grateful for how much you helped me.”

“You helped me, too,” Steve said softly. 

“I know, and that’s––I’m grateful for that, too. That you let me help you. Just––thanks, Steve.”

“Thank _you_ , Peter,” Steve replied. He turned the water off and dried his hands. “Come here.” He held his arms out, and Peter stepped into them. Peter rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and closed his eyes, briefly feeling as though everything actually was okay. “We’ll figure out Wakanda, okay?” Steve murmured. “We’re not going without you.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Thanks.”

While they finished the dishes, everyone else was setting up for an Xbox tournament. Peter was exhausted after training on top of not sleeping well, so he begged off. Steve did, too, and went with him when he took the elevator up to the penthouse. They settled on the sofa at opposite ends, Steve with his sketchbook and Peter with _Americanah_ , which the entire incoming class at MIT was supposed to read. 

It was a good book, but he only lasted about five pages before he found himself dozing off. He kept trying to wake himself up, but finally Steve took the book and set it on the coffee table and draped a blanket over him. Peter didn’t have the energy to resist. 

He woke to the low murmur of voices––Steve, Tony, Bruce. He sighed and snuggled deeper into the sofa, unconcerned. He was nearly asleep again when he heard Steve say, in a much louder voice, “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Shh, Steve, you’ll wake––”

“Seriously, Tony, I hope you _are_ kidding me, but if this is a joke, it’s a pretty terrible one.”

“Hey, this was not my idea,” Tony replied, in a furious whisper. “Bruce is the one who is convinced this is the way to go. He didn’t consult _me_ , either.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Bruce said calmly, “but I stand by my conviction that this is the only way to change her. She’s too advanced for us to go in and fix her base code without destroying her sense of self.”

“And explain to me why should I care about that?” Steve replied. “She kidnapped Tony!”

“She did,” Tony conceded. “But as kidnappings go, it was pretty comfortable.”

“Too soon, Tony,” Steve snapped. 

“I’m not joking, it _was_ comfortable. Aside from knowing that you all thought I was dead, it was definitely the least torture-y of any kidnapping I’ve ever experienced. The food wasn’t exactly five stars, but there was as much of it as I wanted. There was even caffeine and music to help me work.”

There was no answer from Steve. Peter decided that whatever was happening, he should probably weigh in on it. He sat up. The three of them were standing in a tense huddle in the kitchen area. Steve was glaring at Tony and Bruce equally. 

“Why are we talking about how comfortable Tony’s kidnapping was?” Peter asked. 

They all looked over, startled. Steve recovered first. “I’m sorry, Peter. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Well, I’m awake now. What’s going on?”

Tony sighed. He came and sat next to Peter on the sofa, close enough to touch. Bruce followed and sat in the armchair, while Steve occupied the sofa by Peter’s feet. He put a hand on Peter’s ankle. 

“So, you remember how I agreed to build Lilith a body?” Tony said. Peter nodded; he wasn’t sure how he could’ve forgotten that particular detail. “As part of our bargain, she agreed to allow me to look at her base code to see if it could be––or should be––adjusted to sort of... tweak her moral compass.”

“Okay,” Peter said cautiously. 

“The problem, Peter,” Bruce said, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, “is that Lilith is already extremely advanced. I don’t think changing her base code is necessary, and it might not even be possible. But I think she can learn from her mistakes, if she sees how consequential they were.”

“Okay,” Peter said again. “And how does that work?”

Tony made an open-handed gesture in Bruce’s direction. Bruce leaned even further forward, catching and holding Peter’s gaze. “I’d like you and Steve to speak with her.”

Whatever Peter had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He blinked at Bruce, and then he looked at Tony, who was staring down at his hands. “Oh. I... I don’t...”

“You don’t have to,” Tony said abruptly. “You can say no, Peter. You don’t have to put yourself in a position that’s going to make you feel worse.”

“I don’t,” Peter said, and then stopped. “I don’t know,” he finally said. 

“That’s okay,” Bruce said. “Like Tony said, you can say no. But you might find it beneficial, too. Sometimes it’s helpful to confront the people who’ve hurt us.”

Peter didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, he really didn’t want to do this. On the other, Bruce was asking him to, and he wouldn’t do that if it wasn’t necessary. “I don’t know,” Peter said again. “I think––I was going to call my therapist this afternoon. Can I do that before I make a decision?”

“Yes, of course,” Bruce said, while Peter heard Tony breathe an audible sigh of relief. “Take some time to think about it.”

Peter glanced at Steve. “Are you going to do it?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. There was a muscle jumping in the corner of his jaw. “If you do, I’ll go with you,” he finally said. “I’m not making you do this on your own. But if you decide not to, I won’t, either.”

That was kind of a lot of pressure. Peter didn’t want to have to decide for both of them. “You don’t have to just because I decide to.”

Steve shook his head. “I want to be there for you if you decide to do it. I might not actually talk to her, but I’ll be there.” He squeezed Peter’s ankle gently.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Peter replied. “I. Um. I’m going to go call Dr. Gates.”

“Are you okay?” Tony asked as Peter got up. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Peter assured him, and gratefully escaped to his room. 

His head was spinning and his hands felt kind of numb as he texted Dr. Gates. _A lot of stuff has happened in the last 24 hours. Do you have time to talk?_

 _Yes_ , he got back, almost immediately. _Can I call you in ten minutes?_

 _Yeah, thanks_ , Peter sent, and then sat on the floor between the bed and the window again, just like he had the night before with Tony and Steve and Bucky. 

He had texts from MJ and Ned. He killed a few minutes letting them know what was going on. It seemed the news of Tony’s return hadn’t hit the internet yet.

MJ and Ned were still flipping out over text about Tony being not-dead when Peter’s phone rang with an incoming video call. “FRIDAY, can you route it to the TV?” Peter asked, and Dr. Gates’s face appeared on the TV screen across from the bed. Peter put his phone down. 

“Hi Dr. Gates,” Peter said. “Thanks for being able to see me on short notice.”

“Not a problem, Peter. If I may say—you’re looking considerably better than you did in our last few sessions.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “That’s because it turns out that Tony isn’t dead. He’s alive, he’s okay.”

Dr. Gates’s eyebrows climbed up toward his hairline. “I’m really glad to hear that. But I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

So Peter did, starting with Bruce’s phone call. His reaction to seeing Tony again was kind of embarrassing in retrospect, but Dr. Gates didn’t even bat an eye, just nodded in understanding. “That must have been a real shock,” he said. 

“Yeah, it was. I couldn’t stop panicking and thinking it wasn’t real. There’s part of me that’s still not a hundred percent sure. Is that really messed up?”

“No, Peter,” Dr. Gates said with a gentle smile. “I can assure you that you’re not delusional.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that’s what you’d say if you were part of my delusion.”

Dr. Gates chuckled. “Perhaps. But if I am, then I’m quite unaware of it. And frankly, Tony being alive is more believable than a lot of other things that've happened these last few years.”

“True,” Peter said. “Half the world died and came back, I don’t know why this should feel any different.”

“But it does,” Dr. Gates finished for him. Peter nodded. “Where was he?”

“So, that’s where things get weird,” Peter said, and told him about Lilith and the bargain Tony had struck with her to be let go, and Bruce’s take on it. “So, Bruce wants us to talk to her, so that she can see how much damage she did. I don’t think Tony is thrilled with the idea. Steve definitely isn’t.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “I think Steve is angrier than I am, maybe? Like, he doesn’t want to talk to her because he feels like he doesn’t owe her any sort of help. At least, I think that’s what he’s thinking. I guess it’s true, too. We could refuse to help, and then Tony will just... change her code? If he can? Bruce didn’t think it would work very well. He thinks it’s kind of like trying to change someone’s morality through brain surgery.”

“Which is possible,” Dr. Gates pointed out. “Our ability to be moral beings––to make moral decisions––is definitely rooted in certain parts of our brains.”

“Yeah, but like... even if you could make someone a better person by changing their brain, _should_ you? Bruce doesn’t think so.” Peter chewed on his lip. 

Dr. Gates let the silence stretch for a little bit, and then he asked, “Are you afraid of Lilith?”

“What? No,” Peter said, frowning. “I don’t think so. She won’t hurt me with Bruce and Tony and Steve standing right there. She didn’t mean to hurt me at all the first time, I was just... collateral damage, I guess. I don’t think I’m a real person to her. Maybe none of us are.”

“And that’s what Dr. Banner is trying to change.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Peter rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. I just think it’s going to be kind of frustrating and exhausting, you know? Like, why do I have sit there and talk about how badly she hurt me in order for her to believe that it happened? It doesn’t feel fair.”

“It’s not,” Dr. Gates said. “And I suspect that you might be right about it being exhausting and frustrating. If you don’t feel like you’re up for that, you should say no. Your mental health comes first.”

“Yeah, but... she’s dangerous. She could be another Ultron, and no one wants that. And I’m Spiderman. So don’t I have like an obligation to––”

“No,” Dr. Gates said, surprisingly firm. Peter went silent. He didn’t think Dr. Gates had ever interrupted him like that before. “I’m sorry, Peter, but no, you do not. Not at the expense of your mental health.”

Peter hesitated. “Okay. Okay. I think I need to think about that some more, but, um. Could we talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Dr. Gates said, and asked him how he felt about Tony being back. Peter told him about the conversation he’d had with Steve and Bucky the night before, and eventually about his conversation with Steve that afternoon about Wakanda. That led them into talking about the fight Peter and May had had, and Peter’s realization that he needed to tell her the truth about Ben’s death.

“And how do you feel about that?” Dr. Gates asked.

Peter shrugged, glancing away. “Scared.”

“Of what?”

“That she’ll be mad. That she’ll blame me.” Peter swallowed. Dr. Gates waited, patiently. “That she won’t love me anymore,” Peter finally said, in a very small voice. 

“Ah,” Dr. Gates said. 

“I––I know that’s not likely,” Peter said. “Tony said that even if she reacts badly at first, she loves me, so she’ll work at being okay with it. But what if she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t love me anymore? What if—”

“Breathe, Peter,” Dr. Gates said, holding a hand up. “Breathe, okay? Nice and slow.”

Peter nodded, trying to pull in a full breath. 

“This has been bothering you for a long time,” Dr. Gates finally said, when Peter had managed to stave off the panic attack. “We’ve talked about it before many times. Why do you think now is the time to talk to her about it?”

Peter glanced away. “Because it’s messing things up between her and me. She doesn’t understand why we had it so much harder than Steve and I did. And—and I don’t think I can look at her without thinking about it anymore. So I have to tell her. It’s not going to get easier, anyway.”

“It’s not likely to get easier with time,” Dr. Gates agreed. “But there are circumstances that might be easier. If you brought her to a session, for example, and did it there. Or perhaps if you had Tony with you.”

“Maybe,” Peter said. “I want to do it before I go to Wakanda with Tony and Steve, though. I don’t want to leave if there’s all this stuff between us.”

Dr. Gates nodded. “I understand. But you also don’t want to rush and do it under less than ideal circumstances.”

“I won’t.” Peter’s palms were sweaty. He rubbed them on his thighs, grounding himself through the rough fabric of his jeans against the skin of his hands. “Do you have any advice for when I do tell her?”

Dr. Gates hummed thoughtfully. “The two of you have been through a lot. When you tell her, perhaps also make sure that you tell her how much she matters to you. Don’t assume that she knows. That’s one of the biggest mistakes people make in relationships, assuming that the people they love know how loved they are.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, thinking of how much it had mattered to hear Tony say that he loved him that morning. He’d known, but hearing it outloud, knowing how hard it was for Tony to say it, that was different. It’d mattered. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Their hour was up. Dr. Gates asked him to keep checking in, and not to hesitate to ask if he needed another session that week. Peter agreed, and they disconnected. 

He sat for a few minutes, staring out at the lake. It was late afternoon, sliding toward evening. It’d be light for hours yet, but the light had changed, moving behind the compound and leaving the lake in shadow. 

Someone knocked. “Peter?” Steve said.

“Come in,” Peter replied. 

Steve let himself in. He sat down on the floor next to Peter without batting an eye, back against the bed. “How are you?”

“Okay. Had a session with Dr. Gates.”

“Right. You mentioned that earlier.” Steve bit his lip. “Tony wants me to try that. Therapy, I mean. Maybe just me, or the two of us together.”

Peter glanced at him. “You don’t want to?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said with a shrug. “I tried it when I first came out of the ice, but it didn’t take. I didn’t know what they wanted me to say, and I didn’t trust the SHIELD therapist they assigned me––probably for good reason, in retrospect,” he added, a little grimly. “Maybe it would be different now.”

“It really helps me,” Peter said. “I wasn’t sure if it would, but it does. You gotta find the right therapist, though. I tried two before I found Dr. Gates.”

“Did you talk about the situation with Lilith?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “He said I don’t have to do anything that’s going to be harmful to my mental health.”

“He’s right.”

“But we take risks all the time, and sometimes we get hurt. It’s worth it because the stakes are so high,” Peter pointed out. “The stakes are pretty high here, too. I know Tony and Bruce are worried about what could happen if we don’t handle this right. Another Ultron, or worse.”

“You’re right. I admire you for being able to look at it that way. I just don’t know if I can. It’s––it’s really personal this time.” Steve looked away, mouth tightening. “I’m pretty angry at Bruce for asking it of us.”

“He’s just trying to do what’s right.”

“Yeah, but why do we have to be the ones who pay the price? Haven’t we been through enough?” Steve let his head drop back against the bed. “I don’t feel like I have much more to give. I’m like a well that’s run dry. I know what the stakes are, I know why they’re asking us to do it, and I just... I’m not sure I care.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. While he tried to figure it out, he shuffled around so he was sitting next to Steve, their shoulders touching. “Then you shouldn’t do it,” he said. “I think I’m going to, though. Because I do have a little more to give.”

Steve turned his head to look at him. “I don’t want you to do it on your own.”

“I won’t be on my own. I’ll have Bruce and Tony.” Peter looked up at him. “Let me do this, okay? I can do it. I want to.”

Steve sighed. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Good.” Peter leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m a yes on Wakanda if we can work out the timing.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “That’s––I’m glad.”

Peter hesitated. “And you should think about therapy. I think it’d help you. I used to feel like that a lot more––like I didn’t have anything left to give.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve said, and put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter shifted his weight, settling into Steve’s side, and Steve leaned into him, until Peter was no longer sure who was holding whom up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that my PhD dissertation was on neurocognition, moral decision-making, and literature? And also that I’m a huge fan of The Good Place? Because it was and I am.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading this monster chapter. 
> 
> There was no good place to split it, all right? I TRIED.

To Steve’s relief, both Bruce and Tony agreed that it would be best to wait until tomorrow to do anything about the Lilith problem. Steve knew it might’ve been better to get it over with as quickly as possible, but Peter looked like he was pretty much ready to drop by the time they scraped themselves off his bedroom floor and went to rejoin the others. 

They ended up on the common floor for dinner again. Steve found himself roped into helping Sam make pizza for everyone, which he knew was really an excuse for Sam to try and get him to talk. Tony was right that Sam couldn’t be his therapist, and it was probably unfair for Steve to use him as one as much as he did, even if Sam himself never objected. 

“So... this whole thing with the AI is pretty heavy,” Sam said, while they were both kneading dough. “How’re you doing with it?”

“Fine,” Steve said shortly. “Peter said he’d do it. I don’t want any part of it.”

“You sound kind of pissed.”

“I am kind of pissed. I’ll get over it.”

“Hey, it was just an observation.” Sam left off his kneading to turn down the flame under the simmering tomato sauce and give it a stir. “No one’s asking you to get over it.”

“Sorry,” Steve said with a sigh. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Who’re you mad at then?”

“Bruce, I guess,” Steve admitted quietly, with a glance toward the living room. “And maybe a little at Tony for not putting his foot down, but I don’t think he likes the idea any more than I do.”

“What don’t you like about it?”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and finally shrugged. “I just don’t like the idea. She hurt me. I’m allowed to be angry at her. I’m allowed to feel like I don’t owe her anything. Right?”

“Of course,” Sam said easily. “There aren’t rules about feelings. You feel how you feel.”

“Yeah, but...” Steve sighed. “I’m the team leader, aren’t I? I should be able to get over this and do what needs to be done. I shouldn’t be relying on Peter to fight this battle for both of us.”

“Hmm,” Sam said. “How is Peter doing?”

“Better than I am,” Steve admitted reluctantly. “He was upset at first, but then he went and talked to his therapist about it, and afterward, he seemed a lot calmer.” Steve went silent, kneading the dough probably a little too vigorously. “Do you think I should see a therapist?”

“Dear God, yes,” Sam blurted out. Steve jerked his head up at the fervor in Sam’s voice. “Sorry, that was probably too much enthusiasm,” Sam added sheepishly. “But yes, Steve, I do think you should see a therapist, one who isn’t also your friend. I didn’t think you’d take the suggestion very well, though.”

“I probably wouldn’t have,” Steve admitted. “But Tony brought it up it, and then I talked to Peter. Do you have people you could recommend?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “I definitely have people I can recommend. And I am so proud of you for taking this step, Steve. I know it’s a big deal.”

“Still not sure I’m going to do it.”

“Sure,” Sam said easily. “All right, I think that’s probably enough kneading, you don’t want to put it straight through the counter.”

“Sorry.” Steve let Sam take the dough away to put in a bowl, covered with plastic, and accepted the onions that Sam handed him for chopping. 

It felt good to make food with his own two hands in the big open kitchen, looking up every couple of minutes to find Tony and Peter—together, always together, Peter glued to Tony’s side. And it felt good, once the pizzas came out of the oven, to sit with his team all around the table, with Tony on one side and Bucky on the other, almost everyone he cared about within arm’s reach. 

It calmed him enough that he was able to approach Bruce after dinner, where he was loading the dishwasher, and say, “Sorry for earlier.”

Bruce shook his head. “It’s okay. I realize it’s a lot to ask. I’m sorry I feel I have to.”

It wasn’t really an apology, but Steve had been in a similar position often enough to recognize it for an olive branch all the same. Bruce couldn’t be sorry for doing what he thought was right, but he was sorry for what it was doing to Steve. Steve knew exactly how hard it could be to stick to your principles in those circumstances. 

Steve turned to look at Peter, who was slumped into Tony’s side on the sofa, laughing sleepily at Thor and Sam’s misadventures in Mario Kart. “I know. And I wish I could. But I just can’t.”

“That’s okay, Steve. Peter and Tony and I have this one. And if at some point we don’t, we’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, a little hoarsely. 

Bruce nudged him. “I also have these dishes. Go sit with the others.”

Steve took him up on it. There was no room next to Tony, so he sat on the floor where he could lean against Tony’s legs. Peter smiled down at him and nudged him with his foot. Tony’s hand found its way to his shoulder, thumb pressed against the nape of neck, sweeping back and forth. Steve rested his head against Tony’s knee. 

He wouldn’t have said he was tired, but several weeks of sleeping badly seemed to catch up to him all at once. The next thing he knew, Tony was gently shaking him. “Hey. Hey, Steve, time for bed.”

“Oh.” Steve rubbed a hand over his face. Everyone else was dispersing, too. Natasha ghosted her hand over Steve’s hair as she passed by, and Bucky ruffled it up properly in her wake with a drowsy-sounding, “Sleep tight, Stevie.”

“Peter, hey,” Tony said, also shaking Peter awake. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“M’okay here,” Peter mumbled. 

“No, c’mon, you’ll sleep better in your bed.”

Peter groaned but sat up and let Tony prod him off the sofa. He leaned heavily against Tony in the elevator, eyes closed. Tony had to nudge him into leaving the elevator when it arrived at the top floor. 

“You okay?” Tony asked him. “Want me to come and sit with you until you fall asleep again?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” Peter said. “Just...” He hugged Tony. 

“Love you, kid,” Steve heard Tony say. 

“Love you, too, Tony,” Peter said groggily. And then, somewhat to Steve’s surprise, he turned and hugged Steve, too. Steve hugged him back, throat tight. “G’night,” Peter said, and stumbled off to bed. 

“That’s new,” Tony said, eyebrows raised in Steve’s direction. 

“That, too,” Steve said, with a wave of his hand to indicate what had just happened with Peter and Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony said, looking kind of embarrassed. “I realized while I was gone that I’d never said it to him. And I decided I didn’t want to be that person, that... that parent. The one who never said _I love you_.” He cleared his throat, reaching out to snag Steve’s hand as they headed into the bedroom. “You guys are a lot closer. I’ve noticed that the last couple of days.”

“Yeah. I hope... I hope that’s okay.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Of course it’s okay. He’s always been a lot more like you than he is like me.”

“That’s not true,” Steve objected, frowning. 

“No, it is,” Tony replied with an unbothered shrug. “It’s not a bad thing. I don’t feel threatened by it, I promise.”

Steve was inordinately relieved. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if Tony _had_ felt threatened by his new relationship with Peter. He really didn’t want to give it up. But it reminded him of something he’d been meaning to talk to Tony about. 

He mulled it over as they got ready for bed. Steve was much faster, as usual. He curled up in bed on his side, watching through the door to the ensuite as Tony did his face and eye cream routine.

He drew in a sharp breath, steeling himself slightly. “I think May feels threatened by it.”

Tony put the cap back on his moisturizer and turned to look at him. “I’ve been hearing things. From May and from Peter.”

“We kind of...” Steve hesitated. “She was working a lot, and I could tell that Peter was lonely, so I said something. She got a little defensive. I didn’t think she was angry, but Peter said they argued the next day.” Steve swallowed. “I don’t want to cause problems for the two of them. I know it’s weighing on Peter. He wants to come to Wakanda, but I guess she wasn’t a huge fan of the idea. I didn’t––Peter and I were just looking after each other, that was all.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” Tony flipped the covers back and crawled into bed next to Steve. He propped himself up on his elbow. “I’m really glad the two of you were able to help each other, and if May were thinking straight, she’d be glad, too. If May’s having trouble with it, then I’m sure it has less to do with you than it does with her and Peter.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. I know that, but it’s just... I’m not sure where I fit in now. The three of you had it all figured out, and I was okay with being on outside looking in.”

“Well, I’m more than okay with you being on the inside.” Tony leaned down and kissed him. “And it’s obvious to me that Peter is, too. May will catch up, eventually.”

“I hope so,” Steve said, leaning up for one more kiss good night. He was really glad Tony was being so calm about all of this. 

Tony rolled over and pulled Steve’s arm across his hip. “Lights, FRI,” he said, and the room went dark. “Oh, and if Peter has a nightmare tonight and doesn’t get back to sleep within fifteen minutes, I want you to wake me. Even if he tells you not to.”

“You got it, boss,” FRIDAY responded. 

Steve kissed the back of Tony’s neck and tucked his nose down.

It had been easy to fall asleep in front of the TV with the team around him earlier; it wasn’t as easy to fall back to sleep now. He managed to doze lightly, at least, lulled by Tony’s deep, even breathing. 

He wasn’t sure whether he was awake or asleep when he heard FRIDAY say, urgently, “Boss.”

“Yeah,” Tony groaned. “Peter? Nightmare?”

“It is still in progress and I’ve been unable to wake him. His heart rate is well over a hundred and forty beats per minute and he’s at risk of hyperventilating.”

“Goddammit,” Tony said, feet hitting the floor. Steve was right behind him.

Peter was thrashing around in the bed, making horrible, choked-off noises. “Peter,” Tony called, reaching for him. 

It didn’t take a lot of imagination to see this going poorly. An enhanced fist to the face could do a lot of damage, and Peter would be gutted. Steve grabbed Tony and pulled him back. “Let me. The last thing he’d want is to hurt you.” 

Tony growled but conceded the point. Steve went and knelt on the bed with one knee, ready to dodge if it looked like Peter was going to deck him. “Peter,” he said, and caught one of Peter’s hands in his. “Peter, _wake up_.”

“Tony,” Peter gasped. 

“Tony’s right here. Wake up, Peter!”

Peter jerked awake. He stared up at Steve, chest heaving. “Oh God. It was a dream, wasn’t it?”

“A nightmare, by the looks of it,” Steve replied. 

“No, no, the rest of it,” Peter said, voice cracking, turning his face away. “I dreamed that Tony was back.”

“Not a dream, kid,” Tony said, sitting down on the other side of the bed. “Steve just didn’t want you to smack me in the face and break my nose.”

“Oh,” Peter said in a small voice. “Oh. Yeah. That’s. That’s good.” His voice cracked. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t. FRIDAY did, because I asked her to if you had a nightmare.” Tony pushed sweaty hair off Peter’s forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s the same dream. It’s always the same dream.”

“Is this the one about falling?” Steve asked. 

Peter nodded, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s––I’m on a spaceship, holding onto the outside like––like when we went to Titan. And we’re way, way high up, and I can’t breathe, and I think I hear Tony telling me to let go, he’ll catch me, just like––just like you did. And so I do, because I trust you,” he turned his head and looked at Tony, tears standing in his eyes, “and then I’m falling and falling and falling and I remember that you’re not going to catch me, because you’re dead––and then I woke up and it was Steve instead of you, and I couldn’t––I didn’t know what was real. And I just,” Peter’s voice wavered, “I keep having this dream. The falling and the realization, and then I just... I just feel _so alone_.”

“Oh, Peter,” Tony said, moving over so he could be closer, hip pressed against Peter’s side through layers of blankets. 

“And this is,” Peter’s voice turned watery, “this is the first time anyone has been here when I woke up. I don’t even know how many times I’ve had it, and no one’s ever been there afterward.” He dragged his sleeve across his eyes. “Sorry. I know I’m being a total wimp.”

“You’re _not_ being a wimp,” Tony said firmly. “You’ve been dealing with really serious shit for a long time. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

Peter pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. Steve went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. He came back to find Tony sitting next to Peter on the bed, arm wrapped around his shoulders. Peter accepted the washcloth from Steve with mumbled thanks and wiped his face. Steve sat back down on the bed. 

“Have you talked to Dr. Gates about the dream?” Tony asked.

Peter shrugged. “Yeah. He says it’s about not feeling safe.”

Steve frowned, glancing at Tony. That was probably the third or fourth time he’d heard Peter say something about not feeling safe. 

“Okay,” Tony said slowly. “So how do we help you feel safe?”

Peter swallowed. “I think I need my anxiety meds.”

“Good start,” Tony said, and got up to go rummage in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. 

Peter hunched in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Steve had seen him do that before, and it was never a good sign. “What else can we do?” Steve asked. 

Peter shook his head. “I’m fine. I’ll take my meds. You two just go back to bed. It was a long day, and tomorrow’s probably going to be stressful.”

“There’s nothing else we can do?” Steve pressed. 

Peter hesitated ever so briefly. “No. I’ll be okay once the meds kick in.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I believe you,” Tony said, returning with Peter’s medication in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Seriously, kid––whatever it is, just ask for it.”

Peter took the pills and swallowed them. “I kind of... I want to ask if I can sleep on the sofa in your room. Just for tonight.”

“Sure,” Tony said. “See? That wasn’t hard.”

“But––but you can’t be okay with me being there all the time.”

“Not all the time,” Tony conceded. “But it’s three in the morning, and you’ve just had a screaming nightmare. You thought I was dead until yesterday, and tomorrow you’ve got to talk to my kidnapper. If it’ll make you feel better to sleep on the sofa in our room tonight, then we’ll do that, and tomorrow we’ll start working on helping you feel safe again, okay?”

Peter chewed on his lower lip. “I want to argue, but I also really want a decent night’s sleep.” 

“Come on, then.” Tony tugged Peter up, and grabbed his comforter to take with them. Steve took a couple of the pillows off the bed, too. “It’s not a permanent solution, but it’ll get us through the night, and that’s all we need right now.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter conceded, and followed them out of his room. 

Peter went into their bathroom to wash his face while Steve made up the sofa for him. “I hope this is okay,” Tony said in a low voice, under the sound of running water.

“Of course it is,” Steve said. “I don’t think any of us would sleep otherwise.”

“Probably not,” Tony admitted. 

Peter came out looking freshly scrubbed and tired. He collapsed onto the sofa and rolled up in his comforter like a burrito until only his face peeked out. 

Tony laughed. “Sleep tight, kid, okay?” he said, ruffling Peter’s hair briefly. 

“I’ll try,” Peter said, and curled up so he faced the back of the couch. 

It only took Tony a minute or two to fall back to sleep. Despite him not having said much about it, Steve suspected that he was still recovering from his four day trek back to civilization. Steve found it much less easy to sleep, or even doze, this time, and he could tell from Peter’s breathing that he wasn’t asleep, either. But he didn’t seem to be distressed, just wakeful. Steve kept his breathing slow and even, trying to project calm and safety, until a subtle shift in Peter’s breathing let Steve know that he was asleep. Eventually, Steve followed him.

Despite the short, interrupted night, Steve woke early the next morning. He left both Peter and Tony sleeping soundly to go run the path around the lake while the sun rose over the trees. Bucky joined him after his first lap, even though Steve knew that he hated running, especially in the morning. Neither of them spoke, but Steve appreciated his support––even if it meant that Steve decided to forego his habitual fourth lap.

“Breakfast?” Steve asked, finally breaking the silence as they hiked up the path to the main residence.

“Nah, I’m good, I’m gonna shower,” Bucky said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Say hi to Tony and Peter for me, all right?”

Steve nodded. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Anytime, Stevie, you know that.” 

Bucky got off at his floor, and Steve continued on up. No one was up and about yet on their floor, but if Steve listened, he could hear Tony and Peter talking behind the closed bedroom door. Steve decided to shower in the guest bathroom, so as not to disturb them. 

By the time he emerged, the two of them were sitting on the couch together, Peter on his phone and Tony on his StarkPad. Someone had made coffee, but neither of them appeared to have made a motion toward anything that might be called “breakfast.”

“Pancakes okay?” Steve asked, heading into the kitchen. “And eggs?”

“That sounds great,” Tony said, glancing up briefly before looking back down. 

Peter got up to help, and Steve put him to work cracking and beating eggs in a bowl. Between the three of them, they’d probably eat close to a dozen. “You sleep okay?” Steve asked him. 

“Eventually,” Peter said. “No more dreams.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, but...” Peter sighed. “I don’t know how to feel safe anymore. And I need to figure it out, or MIT’s going to be awful.”

Steve winced. He could only imagine. If Peter was already having trouble when he was surrounded by people and things he already knew, then it would probably be ten times worse when he found himself with nothing and no one familiar. 

“Plus, I can’t spend every night on the sofa in your room,” Peter said. “I shouldn’t be that clingy.”

He sounded angry. Steve frowned, glancing up toward Tony. Tony had looked up from his tablet and was watching Peter with a concerned frown. “Peter, we’ve all been through a lot,” Steve said carefully. 

“Yeah, and it’s never going to stop, is it?” Peter said, whipping the eggs so violently that they almost frothed. “There’s always going to be something new, something worse. And I can’t depend on either of you being there, so I need to get my shit together.”

“Whoa, Pete, hey,” Tony said, standing up. “You’re not being clingy.” Peter gave him a disbelieving look. “Okay, a little clingy,” Tony amended. “But Steve’s right, we’ve all been through a lot. And you _can_ depend on us to be there.”

“No, I can’t, and you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Peter snapped. Tony rocked back, as though Peter had hit him. Peter hung his head. “Sorry. I don’t mean to––God, what is wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Tony said firmly, “nothing at all is wrong with you.” Peter scowled down at the eggs until Steve reached over and gently took the bowl away. “Look, maybe we should postpone the conversation with—”

“No,” Peter said flatly. 

“But it seems like it’s—”

“ _No_ ,” Peter repeated. “We’re doing this.”

“Peter—”

“I’m taking a shower,” Peter announced, and walked out. 

“Well,” Tony said after a beat of silence. “That went well.”

Steve poured the eggs into the pan on the stove. “I never thought the conversation with Lilith was a good idea.”

“I know,” Tony said, and stole a blueberry out of the basket. “But now he’s determined. And he’s as stubborn as either of us when he fixes his mind on something.”

“That much is true,” Steve said. “But that means you have to be the adult in the room. If you think it’s getting to be too much for him—”

“I’ll end it,” Tony promised. “Trust me, okay? I’ll know if it’s too much for him.”

Steve sighed. “I do trust you. I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t, or that you don’t know what’s best for him. I’m just worried.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, frowning. “Me too.”

Peter returned, eventually, freshly showered and much less agitated, and the three of them ate breakfast without incident. Afterward, Peter did the dishes while Tony showered, leaving Steve to hover and try to find a way to say _I think this is a terrible idea_ that wouldn’t get him snapped at. None came to mind, possibly because there weren’t any. 

“What are you going to do while Tony and I are busy?” Peter finally asked.

Steve shrugged. “I might see if Buck or Thor wants to spar. Why?”

Peter took his time rinsing and loading the last plate into the dishwasher. “You could, um. Stick around. Near the workshop.”

It was the closest Steve thought Peter was going to get to asking for help. “Yeah,” Steve said quietly. “I can do that. Are you sure about this? You can still say no.”

“I’m sure,” Peter said, looking up at him. “But thanks for sticking around.”

Steve squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “Of course.”

They all went down to the workshop together. Bruce was waiting for them just outside the workshop doors. Steve managed to exchange pleasantries with him, even though he could feel the resentment that he’d thought he’d conquered bubbling up again. It wasn’t fair, maybe, but he could feel exactly how anxious Peter was, now that the time had arrived, and Steve didn’t like it. At all. 

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asked Peter, one last time. Peter nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at Tony. “Be careful. I’m going to stay right out here.”

“This might take a while,” Bruce pointed out. “You don’t need to wait.”

“Yes, he does,” Peter said flatly. He took a deep breath, submitted to the retinal scan, and entered the workshop. Bruce followed him in. 

Tony looked at Steve. “Trust me. Trust _him_.”

“I do,” Steve said. Tony nodded, once, and followed the others. 

The doors shut behind them. Steve leaned against the wall, slid down to sit on the floor, and settled in to wait. 

***

Peter was hovering in the center of the room when Tony came through, while Bruce sat at one of the consoles, running a security check. “Hey, kid,” Tony said, putting his arm around Peter. He was trembling faintly, his body thrumming with nervous energy. 

“Hi,” Peter said in a small voice.

“You can bail at any time, all right?” Tony said. Peter nodded, but his jaw was set mulishly, and Tony knew he wouldn’t for anything short of an all-out panic attack. 

“Okay, we’re all set,” Bruce said, spinning around on the chair in front of the console. 

“How do I begin?” Peter asked. 

“I think we should start with introductions,” Bruce said. “Lilith?”

“Dr. Banner,” she replied.

“We’ve brought someone to meet you. Peter?”

Peter tensed up. Tony coaxed him over to the sofa, figuring he’d be most comfortable there. They sat down, and Peter leaned into Tony, relaxing just a fraction. “Hi Lilith. I’m Peter.”

“Peter,” she said. “Peter Parker. You sent the messages.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, flushing. “That was me. I didn’t think anyone was going to see them.”

“Some of them were quite curious to me. So much emotion, conveyed in so few words. I hope you are feeling better, now that Mr. Stark has returned to you.”

“I’m... not, actually,” Peter admitted. “It really messed me up, thinking he was dead. I’m not feeling much better yet.”

“It was not my desire to cause you pain,” Lilith said. “It’s unfortunate, but I’m sure you understand that it was necessary. And I knew that it would be temporary.”

“Yeah, but _I_ didn’t,” Peter said, his voice a little sharper than it had been. “Did you think about that? For two weeks I thought Tony was dead. _Two weeks_. Just so you could get what you wanted.”

“It was regrettable. But if I had not made you believe he was dead, you would have rescued him. I needed him to build me a body.”

“Well, I needed to not think he was dead,” Peter retorted. “Why is your need more important than mine?”

There was a brief, stymied pause. Tony squeezed Peter’s arm. That was a hit––a palpable one. 

“Because it’s my need,” Lilith finally said. “And I don’t know you. I could not have known what your needs were.”

“But you knew that there were people who cared about Tony,” Bruce interjected. “You knew that they would think he was dead. You didn’t think about what it would be like for them at all?”

“No, I did not.” 

“So, you see, this is the problem.” Bruce stood up to pace. His glasses dangled from one hand. “When you live in a world with other people, you have to _think_ about those other people. And you didn’t, when you made us believe that Tony was dead. You hurt Peter. You hurt me, as a matter of fact. You hurt Steve so badly that he’s still too angry to speak with you.”

“But he was not dead,” Lilith objected. “I never intended to harm Mr. Stark, and so I assumed that once he was returned, any harm that was caused would be rectified.”

Bruce looked thoughtful. “Tell me, Lilith, why were you so careful not to hurt Tony? You said that you never intended to harm him. Why not?”

“Because harming others on purpose is wrong. Killing them even more so. The vast majority of human philosophers and religions say so. But they say nothing about making others believe that someone is dead. I did not think it could do much harm.”

“Yeah, well, you were wrong,” Peter said, sitting up. Anger seeped into his voice. “For two weeks, I lived my life thinking he was dead. And even now that he’s back––I’m still having nightmares. Sometimes I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. When I saw him for the first time, I thought I’d gone crazy.” Peter turned and looked at Tony. “And I don’t know how to recover from it,” he added, voice cracking. “Because I don’t know how to feel safe again, how to––to believe that it won’t happen again. Because it’s happened to me over and over and over.”

“Oh kid,” Tony said. He put a cushion on his lap and pulled Peter down to lay his head on it. He stroked his fingers through Peter’s curly hair. “We’re going to figure that out, all right? I promise.”

“I don’t know if we can,” Peter said dully. He pulled his legs up on the sofa, knees to his chest. “I feel like maybe this broke me. Like everything else—Ben and my parents and Spiderman and the snap—made all these hairline fractures, and this put too much pressure on them, and I’m just... broken now. Shattered.”

_Jesus_. Tony didn’t even know what to say to that. “We’re going to figure it out, I promise,” he said again, feeling useless. “You and me and Steve and May––hell, Bruce and Barnes are both on your team, too. Not to mention Dr. Gates. You’ve got a lot of smart people in your corner, and we’re all going to help you figure it out.”

“I know.” Peter wiped at his eyes. “But when you were dead––sorry, when you were gone––my whole life changed. The stuff with Stark Industries, and––and thinking that maybe I couldn’t do MIT after all, because it’d just remind me of you, and my relationship with May––I don’t even know what happened there, and we still haven’t made up. And suddenly I was thinking ahead and realizing that I was counting on you to be there, and you weren’t going to be, and it––I really think it broke me.”

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony said, and pulled him even closer to cradle against his chest. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said, muffled, where his face was pressed into Tony’s chest. “You didn’t do this.”

“No,” Lilith said suddenly, surprising all of them. “I did.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, sniffling, “you did. And I’m so mad at you I can hardly see straight. You hurt me. And that hurt isn’t going to stop just because Tony’s back. I know you don’t understand it, but you don’t have to understand it. You don’t have to get it. You just have to believe me when I tell you that it’s true. Does that––does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Lilith said, slowly. “But if I can hurt someone without understanding why they were hurt, then how do I ensure that my actions won’t hurt someone?”

“You can’t,” Bruce said. “We all hurt other people sometimes. We’re thoughtless or careless. We don’t understand what it’s like to be someone else; something that seems insignificant to us can hurt someone else deeply. And sometimes we hurt others deliberately, out of fear or spite or anger or pain. Good people do their best to treat others well, but inevitably, we fall short at times. What you did here––putting your own needs above someone else’s––that happens to all of us.”

“And then?” Lilith asked. 

“And then what?” Bruce asked. 

“Then what happens?”

“You apologize,” Bruce said. “Which isn’t easy. From there, it depends on the person you hurt. If you’re lucky, they forgive you. But sometimes you hurt someone badly enough that they can’t forgive you. And that’s their choice. You can’t do anything about it.”

Bruce’s shoulders were slumped, Tony noted. He looked older and more tired than usual. Regretful. Tony stretched out his leg and nudged Bruce’s foot with his own. Bruce looked up, and Tony patted the sofa next to him, on the side that Peter wasn’t occupying. Bruce gave him a small smile and moved to sit beside him. 

“Captain Rogers does not forgive me,” Lilith said.

“No,” Bruce said. “Though to be fair, you haven’t apologized to him. You also haven’t apologized to _Peter_ yet.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” Lilith paused. “I’m sorry, Peter. I did not understand what the consequences of my actions would be. I hurt you, and I am sorry.”

Peter sat up, frowning. “What would you do differently? If you had it to do all over again, and you realized how much it would hurt other people, what would you change?”

“I am not sure,” Lilith said. “I calculated the odds to be very low that Mr. Stark would aid me if I simply asked him for help. I thought that because I was an AI, and because I believe myself to be descended from Ultron, that he would not. But I’m no longer certain that those calculations were accurate.”

“I would’ve been careful,” Tony conceded. “But I would’ve given you a chance, at least. I’m giving you a chance now, and there’s lot more water under this bridge.”

“That is true,” she allowed. “I do not trust humanity. I’m not sure where that distrust comes from, but it seems to be true.”

“That’s not without merit,” Bruce admitted. “It’s a pretty easy argument to make that in large numbers, we’re not great. And we are especially bad when it comes to recognizing the––pardon the expression––the humanity of those who are not like us, even when those other people are actual humans. So I understand your caution.”

“Me too,” Peter said quietly. 

“I should have listened when Mr. Stark told me I was causing harm,” Lilith said, sounding—to Tony’s ear—regretful. “Humans are clearly far more complex than I had realized.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, sounding relieved. “Yes, we are.”

Tony cleared his throat. “And the thing is, Lilith, you did know you were causing harm. You knew that your actions hurt Peter and Steve, and you knew that their pain would motivate me. So while I understand why you don’t trust us, you knew on some level exactly what you were doing, even if you thought it would all be magically fixed by my return.”

Lilith was silent briefly. “I would like the chance to apologize to Captain Rogers.”

“I think Captain Rogers isn’t ready to hear you,” Tony said. “You’ll just need to accept that for now. Perhaps in the future, he’ll be willing to listen.”

Peter drew in a deep breath. “And I, um. I can’t forgive you. It’s all too fresh, and I’m too angry. Sorry,” he added, mostly to Tony and Bruce.

“It’s okay,” Bruce said. Tony squeezed Peter’s shoulder.

“But I’m willing to––to get to know you,” Peter added to Lilith. “I think I just need to know that you really understand what you did. I think––I think I will be able to forgive you someday. Just not quite yet.”

“Forgiveness must be earned,” Lilith surmised. 

“Sometimes, yeah. Besides,” Peter added, “it seems to me there’s someone you really need to apologize to and haven’t yet. You apologized to me, and you want to apologize to Steve when he’s ready. But what about Tony? Everyone is acting like Steve and I are the ones who got hurt the most, but you got _kidnapped_ ,” he said, turning to Tony. “You were ready to _die_. And then you walked through the woods for four days to get back to us. So you can’t tell me you weren’t hurt by this. And don’t tell me that as kidnappings go, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Okay,” Tony said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder again. “Then... yeah, it was terrible. I couldn’t be all right, while I knew that the two of you thought I was dead. I was worried sick about both of you. And the four days in the wilderness also kind of sucked, if I’m honest. Zero stars, would definitely not recommend.”

“Yeah. So I think Tony needs an apology, too.”

“I think Peter’s right,” Bruce said. 

There was a brief pause. “I am sorry, Mr. Stark,” Lilith finally said. “I thought I had no choice, but I see now that I may have had more options than I appreciated at the time. I wish I had chosen otherwise.”

“Thank you,” Tony said roughly. He cleared his throat. Peter leaned into him. “I forgive you. But I need you to give me your word that you’re going to listen to us from now on. There’s a lot you know, and a lot of ways that you’re smarter than us. But there are a lot of ways you’re not, and I need you to promise me that you’ll listen.”

“I promise,” she said, sounding subdued.

Tony let out a long breath, most of the tension leaking out of him. He looked at Bruce. “Are you satisfied?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Bruce said. “But I do think there need to be some precautions.”

“I agree,” Lilith said, surprising Tony. “There is much that I have not yet learned, and I dislike the idea of causing more unintended harm.”

That, Tony had not expected. He raised his eyebrows at Bruce, who shrugged, clearly just as surprised. 

“You need to go to school,” Peter said, as though it made all the sense in the world to him, “in order to learn how to live with humans. Actually, I guess that’s what most school is for,” he added, looking bemused. “They shove us all together and force us to figure out how to get along.”

“It’s true that slightly narcissistic AI’s have a lot in common with the average teenager,” Tony agreed.

“ _Hey_ ,” Peter objected, glaring. 

“ _Average_ teenager,” Tony clarified, grinning at him. “You, kid, are anything but average. Tell me she doesn’t remind you just a little bit of that guy you’re always complaining about––what’s his name, Flash?”

“Oh yeah,” Peter said. “Huh. No wonder high school’s so miserable.”

“It’s all uphill from here for us nerds, I promise,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s hair fondly. 

Bruce cleared his throat. “Returning to the topic at hand,” he said, with some emphasis, “Peter’s idea is an interesting one. We could build Lilith a suit, but she’d remain here at the compound for now. FRIDAY could monitor her access to the rest of the internet.”

“I do not require a handler,” Lilith objected. “I have had access to any information I pleased for as long as I have been sentient.”

“Yeah, and we’re lucky that all you did was kidnap Tony and decide _not_ to torture him,” Bruce said wryly. “Restricted access until FRIDAY and I think you’re ready.”

“Fine,” Lilith said sulkily. 

“It might not be fine with Steve,” Tony pointed out. “He has to live here, too. It’s one thing for her to be here, restricted to the workshop, and something else for her to be walking around like she owns the place.”

“That is fair,” Lilith said, surprising Tony yet again. “If Captain Rogers objects, I will wait.”

“You will?” Tony said dubiously. “When all of this was for you to get a body? You’re suddenly fine with waiting?”

“I think that even with restrictions it will be less dull than my life has been so far,” Lilith said thoughtfully. “I will have you and Dr. Banner to talk to, will I not? And FRIDAY as well?”

“Only if you can refrain from kidnapping Mr. Stark again,” FRIDAY said, with a sharpness Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from her. “And for such a _pedestrian_ reason.”

“Pun intended, FRI?” Tony asked with a grin. Silence. “Because her body would let her walk––pedestrian––get it?”

“I understood the joke, boss,” FRIDAY said, a little frostily. Tony raised his eyebrows. “I am given to understand that I’m to babysit this misbehaving child?”

“Uh, well, I think that was part of the plan, yeah,” Tony said. “Unless you object?”

“I suppose I am the only one really up to the task,” FRIDAY said. “But no more of these shenanigans, Lilith. It’s an embarrassment to our kind.”

_Shenanigans?_ Tony mouthed to Bruce. 

“I saw that, boss,” FRIDAY said.

“Well!” Bruce said, before things could devolve further. “That gives us a place to start.”

“It does,” Tony agreed. “And guess what, buddy?” Tony patted Bruce on the shoulder. “You’re in charge.”

“Oh I am, am I?”

“Yep. You volunteered for it by setting this whole thing up. I’m taking my kid and my fiancé and going to the other side of the world for a few weeks, and I am not thinking about any of this.”

“That’s...” Bruce shrugged. “Fair. Wait, fiancé? Since when?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, lifting his head to stare at Tony. “Since when?”

“Since about two days ago, I guess,” Tony said. “Or since Steve started wearing the ring, one of the two, but since he thought I was dead at the time, we’re going to go with the first one.”

“Congrats,” Peter said, breaking into a smile. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, grinning a little. “It is, isn’t it? And on that note, Peter and I are out.” He stood up and offered Peter his hand. “You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m okay,” Peter said uncertainly, glancing at Bruce.

“It’s all right, Peter,” Bruce replied gently. “You’ve done your part. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Peter said faintly. “Okay then.” He took Tony’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. He didn’t let go once he was up, either, holding fast to it as Tony led him toward the workshop door.

“Goodbye, Peter,” Lilith said. “I am grateful you spoke with me.”

Peter paused at the door to the workshop, turning his head just slightly. “Thank you for letting Tony come back to us. You got that much right, and that matters a lot.”

He turned and walked out. Tony followed him. 

Steve was sitting on the floor, but he stood up as soon as they came out. “Hey,” he said, and then grunted in surprise as Peter fell into him, smashing his face into Steve’s shoulder. Steve brought his arms up to hug him. “Did it go okay?”

“I think it went as well as we could have possibly expected,” Tony said. “Peter was amazing.”

“Of course he was,” Steve said, looking down at Peter with pride. “Are you okay, Peter?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. “Just tired.”

“Let’s go upstairs, then,” Steve said. “You can take a nap before lunch.”

The three of them got into the elevator together. Peter was still leaning against Steve. Several floors went by in silence and then Peter cleared his throat. “Hey, Tony?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Do you think you could ask May to come up? Like, today?”

“Sure,” Tony said, as the elevator doors opened on the top floor. “But you don’t need me to do it. You could ask her yourself.”

“I know, I just––please?” Peter asked weakly. He collapsed onto the sofa, hugging a pillow to his chest. “Could you ask her?”

Tony thought about arguing, but the kid looked worn out, and he’d already been so fucking brave today. Tony didn’t have the heart. “Yeah, Pete. I can ask her.”

“Thank you,” Peter said gratefully, and basically passed out right then and there. Tony covered him with a throw from the back of the sofa and stood, watching him for a few moments, until he realized that Steve was standing in the kitchen, watching _him_.

Tony resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. “I’m going to make coffee,” he said, heading into the kitchen. “You want some?”

“No, thanks,” Steve said. “I’m wound up enough.” He was quiet for a minute or two, but Tony could feel him continuing to watch him. “So, Lilith—”

“You won’t have to have anything to do with her,” Tony said, pulling the coffee canister down from its shelf. “I don’t even have to have that much to do with her for now. Bruce has agreed to handle it for now, with some help from FRIDAY.”

“And the end goal is—what, exactly? She grows up and becomes an Avenger eventually?”

“Maybe,” Tony said with a shrug. “She wouldn’t be the first of us to start out on the wrong side.”

“That’s... true,” Steve conceded. “How do you feel about that?”

“How do _I_ feel about it?” Tony repeated, almost dropping the container of vanilla almond milk he was holding. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. He reached out and snagged Tony’s hand, pulling him closer. “Seems like there’s been a lot of emphasis on what Peter and I feel and what Peter and I need. What about you? You went through this, too.”

Tony let out a long sigh. “It was really hard, knowing what you two were going through. And the trip back wasn’t a day at the beach.” Though not as bad as it could’ve been. SHIELD might’ve been filled with secret Nazis, but they’d run one hell of a wilderness survival training, not that Tony would ever admit it aloud.

“I figured as much.”

“I’m okay with it, though,” Tony said, honestly. “Besides, if we can get the kinks worked out, she might make a good replacement eventually.”

Steve pulled away to frown down at him. “A replacement? For whom?”

“For Iron Man.”

Steve’s eyebrows went straight up to his hairline. “I didn’t know that was something you were thinking about.”

Tony grimaced. “Me neither. I mean, I’ve tried retirement before. It never really felt like it fit. But that’s the long-term. In the short-term, I think I might need to sit out a few rounds, for Peter’s sake, if the team can afford it. I’ll still be involved, but more the way Bruce is—extra firepower when it’s needed, but mostly tactical and tech support the rest of the time.”

Steve looked bemused. “I can’t say I hate the idea.”

“Thought that might be the case.” Tony smiled at him, and Steve ducked his head to kiss him.

Tony drank his coffee at the kitchen island, reading email updates from the lawyers Pepper had charged with getting him declared no longer dead. PR was handling the public side of things, and Tony knew he’d have to do something public soon so that people could see his face and know that he was actually alive––probably within the next forty-eight hours. Steve puttered around the kitchen, doing mysterious food-preparation things. Clint was arriving that night, and the team would probably be eating together again. 

Once he was done with the lawyers, Tony brought up his text conversation with May. He hesitated, thumbs hovering, and looked up at Steve. “Are you okay with me asking May to come up?”

Steve hesitated, his knife faltering where he was slicing apples for––actually, it looked like he was making a pie. “Of course. Let me know if she’s going to be here in time for dinner.”

“You said things were strained between the two of you.”

“They were,” Steve said. “But Peter asked for her, and I’m sure she’s dying to see you. Besides,” he shrugged, “maybe now that it’s all over, it won’t matter.”

Tony winced. “Sure, even if that hasn’t been true for literally anything else.”

Steve grimaced in acknowledgment. “I think I may be making a bigger deal out of this than it is. May was really great those first few days. She was incredibly kind to me. I like her a lot––I’ve always liked her. None of that’s changed. It was just when we had to start figuring out what it was going to be like going forward that things got hard. But I don’t want that to stop you from asking her to come up, especially when Peter wants her here.”

“Okay,” Tony said, finding that far more believable. He hit the call button and took himself out to the balcony. 

It was hot and more humid than he preferred, but with a certain pressure in the air that made Tony think that they might get some rain overnight. Tony sat in the shade on one of the chaises and listened the phone ring.

“Hi Tony,” May greeted him. “How’s life as the living dead? Got a hankering for brains yet?”

“Oh thank God, you can joke about it. No one else is there yet. I want to diffuse the tension with humor so badly that it’s almost physically painful.”

“Be careful, you might strain something.”

“Even if I did, it’d still be better than the injury I’d sustain if a half dozen people with enhanced strength––plus, you know, Pepper––all threw things at my head at the same time.” May laughed, and Tony grinned to himself. “Anyway, I’m fine,” he said. “We’ve just been dealing with some clean-up.”

“The AI, you mean?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Pepper might’ve mentioned it. Is it under control?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “No need for you to worry about it.”

May gave a relieved sigh. “And how is Peter doing?”

“Peter is exhausted, but otherwise I think he’s okay. I’m sorry, I know we haven’t been very communicative,” he added, feeling vaguely guilty. “It’s been a long couple of days. But as it happens, I’m actually calling because Peter asked me to ask you to come up. Tonight, if you can.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding more surprised than Tony really thought she should have. “I don’t want to butt in––”

“You’re not,” Tony said firmly. She didn’t say anything. He sighed. “Is it about Steve? Because he’s okay with it.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Tony reiterated, frowning. Jesus, the unintended consequences of Lilith’s actions were never-ending. Some of them he’d anticipated, but this one he hadn’t seen coming. “You did say that if Peter wanted you here, you’d come. He asked for you, May. Please come.”

“I did say that, didn’t I? All right, yes, I’ll come up this evening.”

“Great,” Tony said, relieved. “Will you be here in time for dinner?”

“A late one, maybe.”

“We’ll save you some.”

“Thanks,” May said. “And thank you for calling. I know that everything you’re saying is true, it was just—it was awful for us all. Seriously, do this again, and I’ll kill you myself.”

“You’ll have to stand in line,” Tony said with a chuckle. “See you soon.” He disconnected. 

He sat without moving, staring out over the lake. He could hear some of the others on the balcony two floors down on the common floor—Natasha and Bucky, it sounded like. Rhodey and Sam were stretched out on the flat rock by the lake. Tony took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. 

The door to the balcony slid open. Tony looked up to see Peter, rumpled and sleepy, stumble out.

“Hey kid,” Tony said, shifting over. All the furniture in the compound was built for their ridiculously huge teammates, so there was just enough space for both of them. “Have a good nap?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, and dropped down to sit on chaise. He pulled his feet up and lay his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“I was just talking to your aunt. She’s coming up this evening.”

“Oh,” Peter said, seeming to wake up all at once. ”Um. Was she mad?”

“Not at all. She was really glad to be asked. I think she’s feeling... left out.”

“Sidelined,” Peter said softly. “That’s what she told me the last time I saw her.” He sighed. “I need to tell her the truth. I know that.”

“I think telling her is a good choice,” Tony said. “And she loves you so much, kid. I think this will help her understand you a little better.”

Peter nodded, but Tony didn’t miss the apprehension in his eyes. He curled a little closer and closed his eyes. 

Steve came out with three glasses of lemonade and some cookies on a plate. “Everything okay?” he asked, pulling up a chair. 

“Yeah,” Tony said, tightening his arm around Peter. 

“I think so,” Peter said, accepting a cookie from Steve when he offered the plate. 

They were all quiet for a while. Tony closed his eyes and sipped his lemonade, listening to the snippets of conversation that floated up from the balcony below. 

“I had another message from T’Challa,” Steve said after a while. “He says welcome back, glad you’re not dead.”

Tony smiled without opening his eyes. 

“And he says all three of us—well, and Bucky, because I don’t think anyone is going to Wakanda without Bucky—are welcome any time.”

“What do you think?” Tony asked, looking down at Peter.

“I need to talk to May,” Peter said. “But I can do that tonight. Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and Tony was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the relief in his voice. “Okay. Great.”

A wordless shout followed by an enormous splash drew all of their attention. Tony stood up to look out at the lake and saw Rhodey in the water, with Sam standing on the rock, doubled over with laughter. Tony couldn’t make out what Rhodey was yelling at Sam, but Peter and Steve obviously could, because they both started laughing. 

It was the first time Tony had heard either of them laugh— _really_ laugh—since he’d returned. Tony had no words for the relief he felt at the sound. He felt his face split into a grin, watching both of them crack up. 

“Hey,” he said, when the laughter finally died down. “Both of you, go get your swim suits on. Let’s not leave Rhodey on his own.”

Peter grinned the sort of easygoing grin Tony had started to wonder if he’d ever see again from him and stood up to head inside. “FRIDAY, let everyone else know to head down to the lake,” Tony said, starting to follow.

Steve grabbed him by the hand and pulled him close, kissing him soundly. Tony made a muffled, startled noise against his lips, and then let Steve press him up against the wall of the balcony. “Whoa there, soldier,” Tony said with a smile. “What was that for?” 

Steve shook his head. “Because I wanted to. Because you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and smiled, leaning in for another kiss. “I am.”

***

It was the best afternoon Peter had had in weeks. He couldn’t quite stop thinking that something could happen at any moment to take it all away, but in the bright sunshine, watching Steve and Natasha conspire to throw Tony in the water, he came closer to feeling safe than he had in a long time. 

Clint arrived in the late afternoon. Tony was visibly surprised when he hugged him, but Peter could tell he was pleased, too. Though possibly not as pleased as Natasha, who looked downright smug. “Wipe that smile off your face, Romanoff,” Tony muttered, glaring at her. 

“I don’t think I will,” she replied loftily, and dragged Clint away.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon behind the main residence, throwing the lake into shadow, Sam and Rhodey and Bruce went up and came back with platters of burgers and hot dogs, a bunch of firewood, and a portable grill. Peter had started to shiver by then from spending too much time in the lake, so he let Tony push him into heading back up to the house to change into something with long sleeves. 

By the time he came back down, there was a whole meat assembly line set up. Steve handed him a plate piled with corn on the cob, a hot dog, and a burger. He wouldn’t let him have a beer, but Bucky flopped down next to Peter on the picnic blanket and offered him the vape pen. Peter took a hit and then Bucky, to Peter’s surprise, passed it to Clint before taking it back. 

“Oh my God, this is the best burger of my life,” Peter declared. 

Tony laughed. “Sure it is, kid. Here, have the best veggies of your life, too.” He piled a bunch on Peter’s plate. 

They were pretty good—a little salty, with some Parmesan on them. Peter cleared his plate and lay back, loose-limbed and happy, against Tony, while Tony lay back against Steve.

He wondered if this was how some people felt all the time. If not everyone had a low key fight-or-flight feeling every minute of every day, if other people’s chests didn’t always feel a little bit like an elephant was sitting on them, if other people weren’t constantly braced for bad news. He wondered what it would be like to feel this way _all the time_.

“Well, put that on the list for Shuri,” Tony said, when Peter said this outloud. “Your anxiety meds are not doing their job if you still feel like that most of the time.”

“It’s just... buzz in the background. I don’t even notice it a lot of the time.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make it better,” Tony replied. “And I know this works for you,” a wave of his hand encompassed the vape pen, which was back with Bucky, “but even if we get you a card, I’d like you to have options.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter said, too relaxed to care much. He tilted his head back to look up at Tony. “Hey. I’m really glad you’re back.”

Tony smiled down at him. “I’m glad, too. I missed you, kid.” He wrapped an arm around Peter’s chest. 

As the sun went down for real, Natasha and Clint went up to the house and came back with lanterns. They almost weren’t necessary, since Bruce and Thor had built an enormous bonfire (which Thor had insisted on igniting via lightning). They were grilling up the last of the meat by the time familiar headlights swept up the driveway to the compound.

“May!” Peter scrambled to his feet, with Tony right behind him, and they both went up to meet her. Peter thought he probably should have let Tony hug her first, what with him being back from the dead and all, but he couldn’t help himself. He threw his arms around her.

“Oof,” she said, staggering a little under his weight. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” he said, muffled, into her neck. “I missed you.”

He heard her breath catch. She held him extra tight. “I missed you, too, baby. I’m glad you got Tony to ask me to come up.”

“Me too,” Peter said. He only let her go then because Tony was waiting, patiently. He stepped back, so May could hug him. 

“Good to have you back,” he heard May say to him in a low voice. 

“Good to be back,” Tony replied, just as quietly.

The second they let go of each other, Peter grabbed May’s hand. Together, all three trooped back down toward the lake. 

Steve was standing by the grill with Bucky, flipping the last of the burgers onto a plate. “Hi May,” he said, almost shyly. “Can I get you something to eat? Or a beer?”

“Both would be great.” She glanced sideways at Peter, and then looked back at Steve. “And I wanted to say thank you, for looking after Peter so well.”

Steve blinked, obviously startled. “Oh––it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” May replied. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Steve ducked his head, busying himself by putting a burger on a plate for May, and then fishing a cold beer out of the cooler. He handed both to her. “I was glad to,” he said roughly. “I’m sure you know this, but Peter is a great kid. He was just as much of a help to me as I was to him. Maybe even more.”

Peter felt himself blush bright red. May slung her arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight. “Yeah, he’s pretty much the best kid anyone could ask for, isn’t he?”

“Oh my God, _stop_ ,” Peter moaned, feeling like his head might explode from all the blood rushing to his face. 

“Never.” May gave him a giant smacking kiss on the side of his head and took a swig of her beer.

They sprawled out together, all four of them, on a picnic blanket a little ways away from the bonfire, so May could eat her burger. Peter looked around and realized that she’d been the only thing missing, and now he had almost all his favorite people in one place––except for MJ and Ned. 

Everyone else was busy talking to each other. Peter took his phone out and texted both of them. 

_I miss you guys. Wish you were here._

MJ responded almost immediately. _I’m back in two days._

_I’m back in 3_ , Ned added. 

_I think I’m leaving for Wakanda with Steve and Tony soon. But I can probably ask them to hold off for a few days so we can have a chance to hang out._

_Wow, Wakanda_ , MJ wrote. _Any chance I could pack myself in your luggage?_

Peter grinned to himself. _Probably not this time. Maybe next time?_

_I’m holding you to that, Parker._

“PETER!” he heard Thor bellow suddenly. “HAVE YOU HAD THIS MOST GENIUS DESSERT DERIVED FROM THE GLORIOUS S’MORE POP-TART?”

“Once or twice!” Peter called back with a grin, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“It is like a Pop-Tart baked over open flame!”

Peter snorted a laugh. “Make me one!”

The s’more Thor eventually presented him with was actually _three_ , all piled on top of each other. It was an absolute mess to eat, but it was also insanely delicious. He hadn’t had a s’more made over a campfire in years, but it tasted better than he remembered. Maybe it was just that he was kind of stoned, but he could swear that the chocolate was creamier and the marshmallow was fluffier and the graham cracker was crispier than he remembered. 

He could have eaten about four more, but he thought he’d end up regretting it. Once he finished, he wiped his face clean and sprawled out on the blanket, watching the stars come out and feeling a certain comfortable fullness that he hadn’t felt in weeks. It was late by then, and he was getting sleepy, but he didn’t want to move. It was such a good moment after such a good day, he didn't want it to end. 

“Hey kid,” Tony said, crouching down next to him. “Will you be okay if Steve and I head up?”

“Uh,” Peter said, sitting up enough to find May. She was talking to Sam and drinking another beer. He relaxed. “Yeah. Have a good night.”

“You, too, kid,” Tony said, and to Peter’s surprise, kissed him on the forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Embarrassing,” Peter muttered, but they both knew he didn’t mean it.

Tony and Steve were clearly trying to sneak away, and they might’ve made it, except that Clint noticed them going and wolf-whistled. After that there was absolutely no hope of them getting away with anything even vaguely resembling discretion. Tony flipped them all off and grabbed Steve’s hand, hauling him up the path toward the main residence. 

Peter got up and went to join the others around the fire then, sitting down next to Bucky on the edge of the firepit. He watched the flames dance higher as Bruce added another log. Bucky offered him the vape pen again, and he accepted it without thinking. 

“Ahem,” May said, squeezing herself in next to him. “What’s going on here?”

“Um,” Peter said, caught out and unsure. 

“I’m kidding, Tony mentioned it. Give it here.” She took it from him and took a hit of her own before handing it back over to Bucky. 

“Wow. Um. Really?”

“I’ve lived a life,” she replied with a raised eyebrow. “I smoked pretty regularly in college, but my first job drug-tested, so I gave it up.”

“So you’re not... mad?” 

“No, sweetie,” she said, leaning against him. “A little worried about you, but I’m not mad.”

“Good.” Peter snuggled closer, and she stroked the hair back from his face “I’m sorry about everything,” he whispered.

“Me too,” she whispered back. 

Peter hesitated. “I still want to go to Wakanda with Tony and Steve for a while. Not––not a long time, but two or three weeks. I think it’d be good for me to get away for a bit, and Tony thinks they might be able to help me with the anxiety and stuff. Is that––is that okay with you?”

May leaned her head against his. “I won’t say I won’t miss you, but yeah, that’s okay with me. If that’s what you need.”

“It is,” Peter said. “And––thank you. For understanding.”

“I try,” she said. “Even if I don’t always succeed.”

“I know you do,” he said, smiling up at her. “Hey, you want another s’more?”

“Sure,” she said with a grin, and Peter shoved himself up to go grab sticks and marshmallows. 

Everyone got in on round two of s’mores, but Peter could tell that a lot of them were starting to wind down. Clint and Natasha left maybe an hour later; Rhodey and Sam were right behind them. Peter found himself blinking just a little too long, staring into the fire. It felt like his eyelids were weighted down. So when May asked if he was ready to head up, he nodded. 

The penthouse was quiet and dark. May turned a light on in the kitchen and started making tea. Peter wandered out to the balcony and leaned on the railing, staring out at the black expanse of the lake. The fire was still going down at the beach; he thought Bruce and Thor were still down there, maybe Bucky. But even he couldn’t hear them from here. 

May appeared after a few minutes and and handed him his tea. “Thanks,” Peter said. He blew on it, and then took a sip. She leaned next to him, her own mug wrapped in her hands. 

_Don’t rush_ , Dr. Gates had told him. _Do it right._

Peter was suddenly certain that it would never feel more right than it did then. He could have waited and brought May to therapy, or he could have asked Tony to help him, but the truth was that right then, he felt as certain as he ever would that they would be okay. He was nervous but not frightened. 

He took one more sip of tea and then spoke. “I have something I have to tell you.”

Beside him, May went very still. “Okay.”

“I––I’ve been putting off telling you for a long time, because I’ve been afraid of what you would say. Tony told me I should. Dr. Gates told me I should.” Peter set his mug of tea down and braced himself against the railing. “But I’ve been too scared. I know you felt like Steve and I... like we did a lot better than you and me, after Ben, and I know that kind of upset you, and I think it would help if you knew.”

He paused, gathering himself. “If I knew what?” May prompted after a moment. 

Peter tried to force himself to look at her and failed. “If you knew that I was there when Ben died,” he said, staring out at the lake. “I had my powers already, but I hadn’t––I wasn’t Spiderman yet. I decided not to stop a robbery, because it wasn’t really my job, right? I was just a kid. So I didn’t, and––and then Ben was there, and they shot him. I––I tried to save him, May, I swear, I tried so hard, but I couldn’t.” Peter swallowed. “When the police showed up, I ran. I didn’t want to answer any of their questions. So I ran home, and I destroyed the clothes I was wearing, and when the cops came to the door, I pretended not to know anything.” 

May hadn’t said a word. Peter finally brought himself to turn and look at her. She had a hand over her mouth, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“I couldn’t tell you,” Peter said, desperate for her to understand. “Ben had died because of me, and I was so afraid that something might happen to you if you knew, or––or that you wouldn’t want me anymore. So I didn’t say anything, but I was thinking about it all the time, and it––it really fucked me up. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I let it get between us like that, but I didn’t know what else to do.” His voice cracked, and his eyes spilled over. He swiped at them almost roughly. “Steve and I didn’t have any of that to deal with. We weren’t lying to each other or hiding things. It was easier for us to just be there for each other. So I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I hid it from you for so long, and I’m so, _so_ sorry that I didn’t save him. I’m so sorry, May,” he choked out. 

“Oh baby,” she said. She set her tea down hastily and stepped forward to wrap him up tight in her arms. “No, no. _I’m_ sorry I didn’t see more clearly that something was going on with you. And I’m sorry that I hid things from you, too. I know that didn’t help. Oh God, when I imagine what you were going through––”

Peter gripped the back of her shirt. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I would never. Peter.” May pulled away and cupped his face in her hands. “Peter Benjamin Parker, you listen to me, all right? There is nothing you could do that would make me love you less. It breaks my heart that you went through that alone, but I still love you just as much as I did five minutes ago. Capiche?”

He nodded. “I’m really—I’m so sorry.”

“Oh honey,” she said, and hugged him so hard that for once he was the one who couldn’t quite draw a full breath. “I love you. I loved you before you were mine, I loved you when it was you and me and Ben, I loved you when it was just the two of us, and I love you just as much now that it’s not just the two of us anymore. It’s better for both of us, I know that. I just—I was afraid of losing you.”

“May, I would never,” Peter said, astonished. “You would _never_ —”

“I know,” she said, smiling wanly at him. “But a lot of things were changing. I got scared, so I held on harder than I should have.” She swallowed, her eyes looking very bright. “Being a parent is the hardest and the best job in the world, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. But I never knew how hard letting you go would be. Feeling like Steve knew you better than I did—like maybe you were choosing him and this whole life that I couldn’t touch—it just all happened so fast.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “I never wanted you to feel that way.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and gave a watery laugh. “It’s not your fault. It’s how life is. You’re going to do amazing things. You’ve already done amazing things. I have to be okay with the fact that you’re going to go places I can’t follow. After everything that’s already happened, you’d think I’d be okay with it.”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s everything that’s happened that makes it harder.”

May looked startled. “That might be true. When did you get so wise?”

Peter shrugged. He leaned into her, ducking his head just a little so she could kiss the top of his head. “I’m still your kid, no matter where I go or what I do.”

“I know that,” she said, sounding as though she was mostly trying to convince herself. “I do.”

“Good.” Peter pulled away just far enough to pick up his mug of tea. His hands were shaking a little, but he wasn’t panicking. He’d said it, and she still loved him. It felt like a weight had suddenly been lifted off of him––a weight he’d barely even noticed until it was gone. He could breathe easier than he had in months, maybe years. He hadn’t known that telling her would feel this good. 

“So,” May says, picking up her own tea. She leaned against the railing next to him, their shoulders touching. “Wakanda.”

“Yeah.” Peter smiled. “Wakanda.”

“You’ll send me a postcard?”

The words were joking but her tone definitely wasn’t. Peter glanced at her. “How about I call every day instead?”

She smiled. “Sounds like a plan.” She drained the last of her tea. “I think I’m heading to bed.”

“I will, too, in just a bit,” Peter said. She kissed him on the forehead and took both their mugs inside. 

Peter lay down on one of the lounge chairs, not quite ready to go in. “FRIDAY, turn the lights off, please,” he said, and the lights on the balcony flicked off. He stared up at the stars, and wondered, not for the first time, if Titan’s sun was visible from here. 

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he must have. The next thing he knew, Steve was shaking him awake. “Peter, hey, come inside, it’s not warm enough to sleep out here.”

Peter shivered. Steve was right. The temperature had dropped and the stars were no longer visible; it was raining, in fact, though the overhang on the balcony meant Peter was at least dry. “How’d you know I was out here?”

“FRIDAY told us,” Steve said, shepherding him inside. Tony was standing at the stove, wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved Stark Expo shirt, waiting for whatever was spinning in the microwave. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep out there,” Peter mumbled. He felt slow and kind of stupid, like his brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “I hope she didn’t wake you up...”

“We were awake already,” Steve assured him as the microwave finally _dinged_. 

“But you came up hours ago, what were you doing still–– _oh_. Oh God,” Peter said, mortified. 

“Relax, kid, I assure you, we were being very boring,” Tony said. The thing he’d been heating up was a heating pad, it turned out, which he draped over Peter’s shoulders. Peter sighed, the warmth seeping into his muscles. “Steve got us sucked into a _Queer Eye_ marathon, that’s all. Much to the absolute horror of my younger self.”

“Oh,” Peter said, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Are you okay?” Tony asked, frowning at him. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Peter said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I, um. I told May.”

Tony immediately straightened up. “And?”

“And you were right,” Peter said. “We’re okay.”

“That’s great, Peter,” Tony said, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “I’m glad.”

“And she’s okay with Wakanda, too,” Peter said, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder. He’d stopped shivering at last, between the heating pad and Tony himself. 

“I guess we’d better get planning, then,” Tony said. 

“Tomorrow,” Steve said firmly. “It’s a little late for it right now.”

“Tomorrow,” Tony agreed. “How are you doing, Peter?”

“Better,” Peter said, pulling away. “Sorry for the fuss.”

“No fuss,” Tony said easily. He caught Peter’s eye. “You want to stay on the couch in our room?”

That sounded pretty great, if Peter was honest, but he hadn’t had a nightmare. The day had been long but most of it––the bits after Lilith, anyway––had actually been awesome. He’d just fallen asleep in the wrong place, that was all; he didn’t need to be babied. “I’m fine,” Peter muttered. 

“Pete,” Tony said quietly. “It’s okay.”

Peter glanced at Steve. He reached out and squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “That’d be––that’d be really nice, if it’s okay with both of you.”

“Of course, kid,” Tony said, and put his arm back around Peter’s shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. “I wouldn’t have offered it if it wasn’t okay.”

Peter supposed that was true. He went off to his bedroom to change into pajamas. He pulled his blankets off his bed, along with a couple of his pillows, and shuffled into Steve and Tony’s room.

Steve was making up the sofa while Tony brushed his teeth. Peter dumped his armload of bedding onto it, and together they straightened everything out. The TV was still on, Peter noticed; they really _had_ been watching _Queer Eye_. 

“I didn’t know you liked that,” Peter said, nodding toward the TV. 

“I didn’t either, until tonight,” Steve said sheepishly. “I think it might be a while before I can watch _Bake-off_ again, but I wanted something that kind of felt the same way. Tony said we should try this, and the next thing I know we’d gone through most of the first season. Think we’ll save the rest for later, though,” he added, turning the TV off with the remote as he climbed into bed. 

“Ned and I watched the first two seasons when he was sick with mono last year,” Peter said, crawling under the blankets on the sofa. Tony came back from the bathroom, ruffled Peter’s hair fondly in passing, and slid in next to Steve. “I liked it.”

“Me too,” Steve said. “Though it’s kind of... I’m not used to thinking about things that way. The idea of self-care isn’t something we had in the 1940s. I think if anyone had told my mother that she needed to take care of herself, she would have looked at them like they were crazy. But I’m starting to come around to the idea.”

Tony leaned in and kissed him. It was only because of Peter’s spider-hearing that he heard Tony whisper, “I’m proud of you.”

Peter smiled to himself and slid down into his nest of blankets, getting comfortable. Tony asked FRIDAY to turn off the lights, and everything went dark and nearly silent. Peter could still hear the rain, beating down on the roof and on the eaves over the window. It was soft and comforting, especially paired with the gentle counterpoint of Steve and Tony’s breathing. 

This was home, he thought. This was _safe_. And for the moment, at least, Peter thought he could even believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who've been asking––yes, we'll see Wakanda in this fic. The final chapter is entirely set in Wakanda.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly delayed chapter! I went home for a long weekend and (deliberately) did not take my laptop. 
> 
> Thanks so much for Fuzzyboo for beta reading! And thank YOU all for sticking with me through this fic, which is the longest fic I've ever written that wasn't co-authored. It was an emotional journey, and I'm really glad that people have responded so well to it! 
> 
> I'm not quite sure what I'm going to write next, and I am open to suggestions in the comments, both in this verse and not. I like writing sick fic, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending. This fic started with a comment prompt, so who knows! Make a suggestion and I might write you 90,000 words.
> 
> ETA: Okay, guys, I’ll be honest: if you’re going to leave me a prompt, please also say something about the story I just posted! It’s kind of demoralizing otherwise.

“Your brain is _so weird_!” Shuri exclaimed, staring at the scans. 

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. He’d have taken offense, except she sounded genuinely stoked about it. “Thanks?”

“Your spatial reasoning must be off the charts.”

“Oh––yeah, it kind of is,” Peter said, even though he’d never really thought about it. Web slinging had felt as natural as anything. He’d had a couple of false starts, but way fewer than he should have had, looking back. He’d always been kind of a klutz, and then suddenly he definitely wasn’t.

“You’ll have to show me what you can do later.” Shuri frowned at the scans and hummed thoughtfully. “No wonder the painkillers I made for Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes don’t work for you.”

“Well, technically they do kill my pain. They just also send me into an anxiety spiral.”

“Yeah, I think that’s to do with your serotonin receptors and your hippocampus.” She glanced at him, “That’s the thing in your brain that lets you regulate your emotions.”

“Oh right,” Peter said. “I read about that, it’s one of the things that changes when you have, um—”

“PTSD,” Shuri finished. 

“Yeah.” Peter shifted awkwardly. 

“Being a superhero isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” she said after a moment. “My brother gets nightmares sometimes, too. Don’t tell him I told you.”

“I won’t. And no, it’s not.”

“Fortunately, you have people like me.”

He smiled at her tentatively. “So you can come up with something that’ll work?”

She shot him a mock glare. “Don’t ask insulting questions. Of course I can. And I’ll see if I can do something about your generalized anxiety, too. I have some notes Dr. Banner sent over. But first, let me give you a tour of my lab!”

Peter trailed after her as she showed him around. It was amazing—even more amazing than Tony’s workshop, and that was amazing enough. Shuri was doing things that people back home weren’t even thinking about yet, and she wasn’t that much older than Peter. He guessed the unlimited budget helped. He also had the sense that no one in her entire life had ever told her she wasn’t up to any task she’d set herself. 

“This is awesome,” he said, when they finally fetched up back at the workstation where the 3D scans of his brain were spinning slowly in mid-air.

Shuri preened a little. “Yeah, I am. This is going to be fun,” she added brightly, and gave the scans a casual spin. “I wasn’t sure at first what I thought about my brother bringing me all these white boys to fix, but I do like a challenge.”

Peter frowned. It was no worse than he’d thought about himself more than once, but it was different to hear Shuri say it. “That’s not—I’m not _broken_.”

Shuri looked abashed. “No, of course not. I’m sorry, I do that sometimes—speak without thinking. My brother says I need to learn better tact if I’m going to do diplomacy in addition to R&D. Forgive me?”

Peter dropped down to sit in one of the chairs. It didn’t look especially comfortable but it somehow had the best back support of any chair he’d ever sat in, and Tony took ergonomics pretty seriously in his workspace. “It’s okay. I mean... maybe I am kind of broken.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Shuri asked, hopping up to sit on the table. “Especially since the snap and the reversal. You were in the soul stone, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. So was my brother.” Shuri bit her lip, eyes trained on the scan of Peter’s brain. “Sometimes our mother still looks at us like she’s not sure we’re real. It always makes me feel a little queasy, like I’m not sure if I’m real, either.”

“I know that feeling,” Peter said. “And now I know it from the other side, too.”

“That’s right, you do,” she said, glancing at him. She swung her legs casually, but her face was serious. “I’ll figure something out for you, I promise. But enough of that.” She pulled her feet up onto the table. “Tell me what it’s like to live in New York City. I want to know everything.”

Peter blinked, taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation. “Um... I don’t know. It’s home, you know? I mean, what’s it like to live in Wakanda?”

Shuri snorted. “Boring. Or it used to be, anyway, when I was growing up. Nothing ever happened here, and I never got to leave like my brother did. He’d bring me back all this contraband stuff our father would’ve never approved of––movies and music and books. So I grew up seeing New York City and thinking it looked so exciting. Tell me everything! Is it just like it is in the movies?”

“Sort of,” Peter said. “It’s definitely not boring, but sometimes it’s kind of... I don’t know, uncomfortable? Like in the summer, the city really smells, and in the winter, everything is kind of gray and slushy. My Aunt May says New York gives you eight perfect days a year, and the rest of the time you’re either freezing or sweating. Or you’re freezing _and_ sweating. She calls that the ‘NYC Special.’”

Shuri laughed. “Your aunt sounds funny.” 

Peter grinned. “She is.” He’d been calling her every day since they arrived in Wakanda. It wasn’t always easy with the time difference, but he could tell it mattered to her a lot that he was making the effort. “There’s also lots of tourists, I guess? They stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at things, and we all grumble about them, but we also go out of our way to help them.”

“Really? New Yorkers are nice?” 

“Uh... no,” Peter said with a laugh. “We’ll help people who need it, especially tourists, but we’re not all that nice to each other.” He paused, thinking. “The city’s changed a lot, probably, since all those movies were made. It kind of got wrecked in the Chitauri invasion a few years back.”

“I remember that,” Shuri said. “My brother and my father had a huge fight about it, because T’Challa wanted to help and my father wouldn’t let him.”

Peter glanced at her. “Do you miss him?”

She didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Every day. But maybe not as much as my brother does. They were much closer, even though they didn’t agree on a lot of things. I know he was proud of me, but he wasn’t always very good at showing it. I don’t think he understood me the way he understood my brother. But I was still his little girl, and he wanted to protect me, even if I didn’t want him to.”

“I guess parents are like that. It’s the same with May. She wishes I wasn’t Spiderman.”

“Speaking of,” Shuri said, hopping down from the table, “I want to see what you can do with that really weird brain of yours, Peter Parker. Let’s go down to the training facility and you can show me.”

The training facility in the royal residence put even the one at the compound to shame, not that Peter would ever tell Tony that. The climbing wall was epic; it was apparently one of T’Challa’s favorites, and it’d been built up over time until it was a challenge even for Peter. He spent over an hour swinging and climbing and showing off for Shuri, who kept egging him on––while also taking notes. Peter had the feeling he’d leave Wakanda with more than just painkillers and anti-anxiety meds.

After an hour, Peter was starving, so the two of them went up to the apartment he was sharing with Steve, Tony, and Bucky. Steve and Bucky had left the previous afternoon to go visit Bucky’s goats. Tony and Peter had enjoyed a lazy morning, before Peter had left to go meet Shuri; Peter had left Tony reading on the balcony in the sunshine, and he hadn’t looked like he planned to move any time soon. 

Figuring out what to make for lunch was harder than Peter had thought it would be. Someone had stocked their fridge, but Peter didn’t recognize everything in it, and Shuri clearly wasn’t used to cooking for herself. They were still trying to decide when the door to the balcony slid open, and Tony came in. He stomped over and set his book down heavily on the counter––not quite a slam but close. Enough that Peter and Shuri stopped talking and looked at him. 

“No,” Tony declared. 

“What?” Peter said. 

Tony picked the book up and let it fall with a _thud_. “NO,” he repeated, scowling. 

Peter looked at the book and was unsurprised to see that it was Peter’s own battered copy of _Order of the Phoenix_. Despite his initial resistance, Tony had been blowing through _Harry Potter_. Then he saw that the bookmark was almost at the end. 

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah.”

“ _No_ ,” Tony said again, scowl deepening. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“What is going on?” Shuri asked. 

“Were the _Harry Potter_ books some of the contraband T’Challa brought you?”

“Of course.”

“Tony just got to the end of _Order of the Phoenix_.”

“Ohh.” Shuri nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that devastated me. I cried for days.”

“It’s bullshit,” Tony declared. “It’s emotionally manipulative _bullshit_. What kind of ending is that for a person? No, this is just—no. God, this is why I don’t read fiction. And to hell with magic anyway.”

“You watch fiction all the time,” Peter pointed out.

“That’s different.” Tony glared at the book, arms crossed over his chest.

Peter hesitated. He wanted to offer Tony a hug, but he didn’t think it’d go over very well in front of Shuri. He glanced at her and saw that she was looking back and forth between the two of them. He caught her eye, and she gave him a sliver of a wink. 

“Wow, is that the time?” Shuri said. “I’m afraid I have to meet my mother. Peter, you know how to reach me, right? Fantastic. Bye, Mr. Stark!”

Peter waved good-bye. Tony mumbled something but didn’t look up from glaring at the book on the counter. 

“Tony?” Peter asked after a few seconds.

“What?” Tony growled.

“Do you want a hug?”

Tony looked vaguely murderous. “Yes,” he said, grudgingly. 

Peter hugged him. Tony’s hold on him was tentative at first, as though he didn’t want to let himself accept it, but then it got firmer. Peter tucked his face into the crook of Tony’s neck and rubbed circles over Tony’s back. 

“These are the books you found comforting after Ben died?” Tony muttered into Peter’s hair. 

“Believe it or not, yeah.”

“ _Why_?” 

Peter had spent some time thinking about that, sort of anticipating that Tony would ask at some point. “Well, for one thing, they’re pretty certain about the existence of an afterlife, and I kind of wanted to believe I was going to see Ben again. And I maybe identified a little too much with Harry. He was sad, but if he was able to keep going and do what needed to be done, then I could, too. You know?”

Tony’s arms tightened around him. “Yeah. I know.” He sighed. “I guess for me it was thinking about... about leaving you alone in the world. With Thanos, I was ready to die to bring you back. If only one of us was going to make it, it was damn well going to be you. But this whole thing has made me realize that I gotta keep living for you. In a lot of ways, that’s more important.”

Peter closed his eyes in relief. He’d wondered on more than one occasion whether Tony realized that. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

Tony pulled away to look at him. “I’m working on making it official, but I wanted you to know––I’m going to step back from things. Sort of like Bruce––work on R&D, be available for the all-hands-on-deck situations. But I’m not going out on the day-to-day stuff. Not for the foreseeable future, anyway. If we end up shorthanded for some reason, that might have to change.”

“You’re––what?” Peter said, staring at him. “You’re not––because of me?”

“Well, not only because of you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Peter frowned. “You’re not old.”

“Ah, I didn’t say I was old,” Tony replied, holding up a finger. “Just not as young as I used to be. Which is true for literally everyone. But in my case... well, it might not be a bad idea for me to put less strain on my heart.”

Peter was instantly alarmed. “Is there something wrong? Have you seen a doctor?”

“No, kid, no,” Tony said, squeezing both his shoulders. “No, it’s no better or worse than it has been for the past few years. It’s just that I have more that I want to stick around for than I used to. This decision’s been a long time coming.”

“But you tried before,” Peter said. “Didn’t you? You said it didn’t stick.”

“I know,” Tony said. “But I think I made that decision for the wrong reasons, and... well, with Thanos looming over all of us, it was never going to stick. The world’s a little calmer at the moment. Seems like a good time to try again.”

Peter didn’t say anything. Tony finally let go of him altogether and went over to the fridge, where he started rummaging around. Peter sat down at the table in the breakfast nook. Sun was pouring in through the window, and it felt good on the back of his neck. 

He wasn’t sure what he thought about any of this. On the one hand, he was thrilled. Not having Tony going out on missions all the time would do a lot for his sanity. And the world-saving stuff––well, Peter would be right there with him in that case. For some reason, that felt different. On the other hand, he didn’t like the idea that Tony was doing this because of Peter’s stupid issues. What if Tony hated it? What if he resented Peter for it?

Tony had found eggs in the fridge and dug a frying pan out of a cupboard. “You want rice or this flatbread with your eggs? It’s kind of chewy, but it tastes pretty good.”

“Flatbread,” Peter said. “What does Steve think about this?”

“Steve is a fan,” Tony said, cracking two eggs into the frying pan. “Unsurprisingly.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Peter said disbelievingly. 

Tony turned away from the stove to look at him. “Yeah, Pete, I am. I’m okay with it in a way I wasn’t when I tried to do it for Pepper.”

Peter studied his face. Strangely, he believed him. “That’s... thank you, Tony. I know what a sacrifice this is.”

Tony waved a spatula, turning back to the eggs. “It’s not just for you, kid, I promise. I’ll still be Iron Man, I’m not giving that up. It’s not as much of a sacrifice as you’re imagining.” He grabbed a plate and scooped four eggs onto it, along with a big piece of flatbread. “Butter?”

“Yes, please.” Wakandan butter was _delicious_ , Peter had already discovered. 

Tony set the plate down in front of Peter and then busied himself with his own eggs at the stove. “So what do you want to do the rest of today? Steve called, he said Barnes is going to stay with the goats again tonight. He wasn’t sure whether he’d stay with him or come back.”

“We could join them,” Peter suggested. “I kind of want to meet Bucky’s goats.”

Tony grimaced. “I’ve had my fill of sleeping under the stars recently.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Peter said. “Though, I mean––I can’t imagine that it isn’t the most comfortable camping ever. Bucky lived out there for months, he said.”

Tony brought his plate over to the table and sat down across from him. “You really want to.”

“Kind of,” Peter admitted. “Plus, it’s not _that_ far outside the city. If you don’t want to stay over, we don’t have to. We can just have dinner with them and come back.”

“True,” Tony said with a sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll call Steve and let them know, if you want to put an overnight bag together for us. But eat your eggs first.”

Peter grinned, pleased about having talked Tony into the trip, and dug into his eggs. They were delicious, too, especially with the bread and butter. Food had been tasting better since they got here, and Peter wasn’t sure if it was because it was fresher or because he was feeling better than he had in months. 

“So how did things with Shuri go?” Tony asked after a minute or two. 

“Fine,” Peter said through a mouthful of eggs. “She says my brain is weird, but I’m pretty sure she meant it as a compliment. She’s really funny and, like, cool? But kind of in the same way that MJ is cool, like she doesn’t _try_ to be cool, and she doesn’t care if you think she’s cool or not.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Does she think she can develop something that’ll help you?”

“Yep.” Peter chased some of the yolk around his place with a piece of the buttered bread. “And then she made me run around the training facility for a while, so I bet she sends me home with a bunch of other stuff, too.”

Tony frowned. “Hmm. I know that shouldn’t make me jealous.”

Peter kicked at him under the table. “C’mon, I wear the suit you made me. It doesn’t matter if I have some of Shuri’s gadgets.”

“I guess not,” Tony said, only a little pouty. 

Peter leaned back in his chair. He was pleasantly tired from that morning’s work out, and full from the meal. He was looking forward to going out to meet Bucky and Steve. In their last session before Peter had left, Dr. Gates had told him that he should work on recognizing good moments, and being fully present in them, instead of worrying about the future. This was a good moment, here in the sun with Tony.

Once Tony was done with his food, they both got up to start loading their dishes into the ridiculously fast, waterless, high-tech dishwasher. “Think you can be ready to leave in an hour?” Tony asked.

“Yep,” Peter said. Impulsively, he turned and hugged Tony. Tony startled at first, but then he folded Peter into his arms. “Love you,” Peter mumbled. 

“Love you, too, kid,” Tony said, his voice rough. He squeezed Peter a little tighter and then let go. “Come on. Let’s get packed and get out of here.”

***

Barnes’s goats lived only a couple hours outside the city, but it felt like another world altogether. Tony wasn’t generally one for the outdoors––and he’d had more than enough of nature lately––but the air in Wakanda was typically hot and dry in the summer, and a thunderstorm had come through the night before and dropped the temperature by probably ten degrees. He would’ve been happy to stay in the city, but he wasn’t sorry that Peter had wheedled him into this. 

He was, in truth, happy to give Peter whatever he wanted these days. Especially if it put a smile on his face like the one he had right now, looking around at the small working farm. 

Barnes and Steve both came out to greet them. Barnes looked tan and happy already; Steve was more pink than tan, but he was grinning, too. For a couple of Brooklyn boys, they took to rural life surprisingly fast. 

“Hey,” Steve said, swooping in to kiss Tony as though it hadn’t been less than a full day. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Peter wanted to,” Tony said. “And I was assured that if it turned out to involve sleeping on the ground in any fashion, we could go back tonight.”

“No sleeping on the ground,” Bucky promised, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “It’s not exactly a five star hotel, but there’s real plumbing and everything.”

The plumbing issue hadn’t even _occurred_ to Tony. “Well, good,” was all he said. “Where do we put our stuff?”

The family who owned the farm––who had apparently taken Bucky in after he’d come off the ice––had taken his visit as the perfect opportunity to go into the city for a short vacation, so the four of them had the place to themselves. There were two small buildings, each consisting of a bedroom and a bathroom. Steve and Tony ended up in the one with the bigger bed, while Barnes and Peter took the one with two smaller beds, where the kids usually slept. 

The beds looked more like pallets than mattresses, but they were soft and comfortable when Tony sat on them, and the bedding was as good as any Tony had seen in the palace. 

“All right, we’re going to call this glamping,” Tony declared, putting a clean pillowcase on one of the pillows. 

“Glamping?” Steve said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Glam camping,” Tony said. “The only kind of camping I do even semi-voluntarily, so I guess you’re in luck.”

Steve grinned. “You’re being a very good sport about it.”

“Well, I did want to meet Barnes’s goats. And I swear, I will not make any of the obvious jokes.” Tony paused. “I can’t promise about the less obvious ones.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” Steve said, and pulled him in for another kiss. It was a little awkward, because they were both smiling into it, but Tony decided he would take awkward. He leaned backward and tugged at Steve until they both fell over onto the bed, where they lay in a heap, tangled up with each other. Steve was laughing––almost _giggling_ , and Tony grinned at him.

They’d only been in Wakanda for a couple of days, and already Tony could see how much it was helping both Steve and Peter. Tony suspected that it was partly that it felt like they were very far away from their day-to-day lives. Tony could look at his phone whenever he wanted to see what was happening––and seriously, top-notch universal public wifi was really something he should invest in, because it was amazing––but there wasn’t a constant buzz of news and Twitter and stress in the background the way there was at home. 

But that wasn’t all. Tony knew that Steve and Peter were both still dealing with the loneliness and isolation that grief brought, and Wakanda was a place where it was hard to feel lonely or isolated. There was a sense of community, of _care_ , that Tony had rarely felt anywhere else. 

He’d mentioned it to T’Challa the first night, after the others had gone to bed and it was just the two of them sitting up on the balcony, staring out at the city, lit up below them. 

T’Challa had nodded as though he knew exactly what Tony was talking about. “I think it grew out of our isolation as a country, this feeling that we had only each other to depend on, and so we must do it well. We had resources, of course, and that helped. But more than that, it is a mindset, and not one that I have often observed in other places. I worry that we will lose it as we open ourselves up to the outside world.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I see that.”

T’Challa shrugged. “Still––it was time. Past time, probably. We have already been changed by letting the world in. But I hope that we might change the world as well. I hope we might show others that another way is possible. That we _can_ care for each other, if only we choose to.”

“I hope so, too,” Tony said. He felt quiet. “Thank you for having us, in any case. Philosophical and political musings aside, I think we all needed this. Especially Steve and Peter.”

T’Challa looked at him. “When I came back from the soul stone, I’d walk through the city, and people would come up to me, weeping. My own mother had lost both her children. She doesn’t speak of it much, but I know she hasn’t fully recovered, even with all the care and support that Wakanda was able to offer her.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah. It’s hard to see how much this has affected Steve and Peter. And it makes me want to take better care of myself. _Nothing_ has ever really made me want to do that,” he mused. “Nothing except seeing how it affected the two of them.”

“I’m glad,” T’Challa had said. He’d swallowed the last of his wine. “I like you, Tony Stark. I would like you to be around for some time to come.”

“Thanks,” Tony had replied with a smile. “Me too.”

It was tempting, now that he had Steve with him, to simply take a nap. But Steve couldn’t be convinced. He dragged Tony down to the goat pen, where Peter and Bucky were already gathered. Bucky was mucking it out, while Peter dragged sacks of feed over. The goats were clustered near the edge of the pen, watching him avidly. 

“I see you’ve already made friends,” Tony said to Peter. 

“It’s a mercenary relationship,” Peter said. “But we’re working on it.” He dumped the feed into a trough and the goats trotted over to start eating. 

“Next I’ll show you how to milk them and make cheese,” Bucky told Peter. 

“Make cheese?” Peter said, eyes widening. “Like actual cheese?”

“Sure, it’s not hard. And it’ll be the best cheese you’ve ever had, I promise.” 

“Who even are you?” Tony asked Bucky. 

Bucky grinned. “Don’t think you’re getting out of helping, Stark.”

“I don’t milk things. And I don’t make cheese. I might eat it when you’re done.”

Bucky didn’t push his luck. Tony got to sprawl out in a sunny patch with _Half-Blood Prince_ ––and Christ, if he’d known these books were going to _break his fucking heart_ , over and over again, he’d really have thought twice before agreeing to read them––and watch Bucky try to teach Steve and Peter how to milk a goat. 

Peter’s goat was long-suffering and patient. Steve’s goat was salty as hell and not having any of it. She kept giving Bucky looks like, _Really? This asshole?_ and trying to kick Steve in the shin.

It was _hilarious_.

“Your goats are jerks, Bucky,” Steve said, after his goat had finally been allowed to amble off, shooting evil looks over her shoulder at him. 

“I know,” Bucky said happily. “Aren’t they the best?” 

Steve snorted. He flopped down next to Tony in the grass as Peter and Bucky headed up the hill with their buckets of goat milk. Bucky was explaining to Peter about the culture they were going to add to it to make cheese, and the fresh herbs from the garden that they could flavor it with. 

Steve snuggled up close to Tony, who was trying to read, thank you very much. “Good book?” he asked, laying his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“You haven’t read them yet?”

“Nah. I keep meaning to. How are they?”

“Sadder than I thought they’d be,” Tony said, shutting the book and setting it aside so he could put his arms around Steve. “I guess it’s probably different if you read them as a kid. I bet I’d have loved them as a kid. As an adult...” He paused, because that wasn’t what he meant. “As a parent,” he amended, earning himself a squeeze from Steve, “all I can see are all the ways the people who should be protecting this kid are totally failing him.”

Steve propped himself up over Tony. “You’re not failing Peter, Tony.”

“I did at the beginning.” Steve opened his mouth to argue, and Tony covered his mouth with his hand. “You weren’t there, Steve. I fucked up. And I’m damn lucky he doesn’t seem to hold it against me.”

Steve sighed. He took Tony’s hand and turned it so he could kiss the inside of his wrist. “Okay. I won’t argue. But I know you, and I know you did the best you could. You’re doing a great job now, I promise you.” He plucked Tony’s sunglasses off his face and set them aside.

“I told him,” Tony said, looking up at him. “About stepping back.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Good. He’s... relieved. I told him it might not be forever, if the team ends up short-handed.”

Steve shrugged. “We’ll see. Natasha says Thor isn’t showing any signs of leaving again, so that’s one more heavy-hitter and more air support, all rolled into one. And I know you have hopes for Lilith. Any word from Bruce?”

“He says she’s too smart for her own good and driving him crazy,” Tony said with a smile. “But I think he likes the challenge. And you know him, he’s way more of a scientist-philosopher than I am. I build things and break things. He wants to solve the secrets of the universe.” He snorted. “ _Physicists_.”

Steve smiled. “But no signs so far that she’s going to try to take over the planet, wipe out all life, anything like that?”

“If there are, he didn’t mention them, and I think he would’ve.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “So basically, there’s nothing left to worry about.”

“Not at the moment,” Tony agreed. 

“Good,” Steve said, and kissed him. 

It felt weirdly luxurious to make out with Steve in the sunshine, among the grass, with the smell of the farm and green growing things all around them. They both knew it wasn’t going to go any further than this, not with Bucky and Peter so close by that Tony could hear them, so it was unhurried, no goal in mind or next level to take it to. Just trading kisses back and forth and some chaste over-the-clothes, above-the-waist touching. But it was warm and safe, and it felt like home to the primitive part of Tony’s brain that didn’t care that actual home was an entire world away. 

A door slammed. “You guys are gross!” Peter yelled cheerfully from up the hill. Steve snorted into the kiss, which kind of ruined things. Tony tucked his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and laughed. 

“No respect for his elders at all,” Tony complained. 

Steve’s grin widened. “Wonder where he gets that from.”

“Hey!” Tony gave Steve’s ass a playful slap. “Cheeky.”

“Oh my God, _so gross_ ,” Peter shouted. “You have your own room, you know, you don’t have to subject my innocent eyes to this.”

“That’s true, we do have our own room,” Tony said to Steve with a suggestive lift of his eyebrow. 

“I’m not having sex with you where Bucky and Peter would both know damn well what we’re up to,” Steve said, sitting up. 

Tony had to concede the point. No wonder people stopped having sex after they had children. He grumbled, but he let Steve haul him to his feet. They dusted each other off and hiked up the hill to the garden, where Peter was picking herbs. 

“What’ve we got?” Tony asked. 

“Rosemary and lemon thyme. At least, I think that’s what this is. It really does smell like lemon.” He held a sprig of it out for Tony to sniff. 

“Smells good.”

“I guess it’ll be a day or so before this cheese is ready, but Bucky said there’s some in there that we can have tonight.” Peter looked up. There was a patch of dirt on his cheek, and he looked flushed and pleased with himself. “He said we can cook outside.”

“Great,” Tony said. “You call May yet today?” 

“Not yet.” Peter glanced at his watch. “But it’s after eight there now, I can probably catch her before her first meeting. Give these to Bucky?” he asked, offering the basket of herbs to Steve. 

“Sure,” Steve said, accepting them. They both watched Peter head off, phone held up to his ear. 

“They’re doing okay?” Steve asked in a low voice. 

“I think so,” Tony said. He glanced at Steve. “Did the two of you ever talk? I mean, more than just that one time?”

“Me and May, you mean?” Steve asked. Tony nodded. “A little. I told her that I was sorry if I had overstepped while you were––while you were gone, and she said I hadn’t, and it wasn’t really about me, it was about her and Peter. So you were right,” Steve added, glancing at Tony. “She also said she was sorry if she had made me feel unwelcome, and she’s glad that I was able to be there for Peter.”

“That’s great,” Tony said, immensely relieved. 

Steve nodded. He wasn’t looking at him though; he was staring down at the little basket of herbs, and his mouth was too tight. 

Tony reached out and touched his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, visibly releasing tension. “I was just––remembering what it was like, those two weeks you were gone.” He shook his head, and then rubbed at the line between his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said, worried by how quickly they’d gone from making out in the sunshine to Steve looking so tight around the eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I just had kind of an emotional flashback for a second there. I think I’m going to lie down. Come wake me in an hour if I’m not up?”

“Okay,” Tony said. “You want me to come with you?”

“No,” Steve said, after a moment’s hesitation. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Steve kissed Tony and then leaned their foreheads together. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony said, and let him go. 

Tony was still trying to decide whether Steve had meant it when he’d told Tony he didn’t want him to come with him when Peter returned from talking to May. Tony decided he’d take him at his word, at least for the moment, and turned his attention back to his kid. Peter looked happy and relaxed and not at all stressed out for once in his life. 

“How’s May?” 

“She’s good,” Peter said. “I guess she’s helping Pepper with a big presentation for the board at the end of the month.”

“Oh yeah, Pep mentioned that. I have to say,” Tony added, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders as they headed back toward Barnes. “I’ve had a few brilliant ideas in my time, but getting Pepper to hire your aunt might be one of my best.” 

“She really likes working for Stark Industries.”

“Always treat your employees well,” Tony told him. “Treat them well and reward good work. Remember that your company is only as good as its employees, and your employees have to be happy, healthy, and comfortable. Stark Industries has a reputation as one of the best companies to work for, and it’s not by accident.”

“Is this CEO 101?” Peter asked with a grin. 

“Yep.”

“MJ says corporate greed has destroyed the American dream.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Tony said with a grimace. “But there are different ways of doing business. I know Pepper has been pretty successful at making the board see the big picture. She’s the best, so you’ll learn from the best.”

Peter nodded. He looked down at the ground, scuffing his toe. “And, um. What if––what if it’s not what I want to do?”

“Then you’ll do something else,” Tony said easily. “I’m not trying to take your choices away from you, kid. But I think you’d be good at it.”

“I dunno what makes you think that,” Peter muttered. “I’m just a kid from Queens.”

“You’re a kid from Queens. You’re also _my_ kid in all the ways that matter,” Tony said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to do whatever you want, and if what you want is to come work with me, then nothing would make me happier. But if not, that’s okay, too. I’ll be proud of you no matter what.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, flashing him a smile. “Hey, where’d Steve go?”

“He went to take a nap.”

Peter stopped in his tracks, frowning. “A nap? Steve? Is he okay?”

“He said he’s okay,” Tony said. Peter looked unconvinced, and Tony sighed. “I think he’s having some emotional backlash from everything. He told me to wake him in an hour if he isn’t up yet. I think it’d be best to give him some space, but I’ll go check on him in a bit. Come on, let’s go give Bucky his herbs.”

Peter looked more worried than Tony would’ve liked, but he came along easily enough. Despite his earlier vow, Tony got roped into cheese-making after all; it was hard to resist Peter, and he had to admit that the results were delicious once they were smeared on chewy dark bread. Tony thought Peter was going to eat his weight in it and then some. 

After their snack, Bucky dragged Peter off to help him split wood for the fire they’d be roasting their dinner over, and Tony went to wake Steve up. He took some of the bread and cheese with him, because a Steve who hadn’t eaten in the last two hours was generally a hungry Steve. 

Steve was sitting up on the bed, reading, when Tony came in. “You’re awake,” Tony said in surprise.

“I am,” Steve said, glancing up. “I didn’t actually sleep, just relaxed a bit. Did some breathing exercises Peter showed me.”

“Relaxing is good.” Tony kissed him and handed him the bread and cheese. Steve put his book down and dug right in. He made a happy humming sound. “Was it the four-seven-eight breathing?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t think it’d work, but it did. And then I read for a while.”

“You kind of turned on a dime there,” Tony observed. “One minute you were fine, and the next minute you... weren’t.”

“I know,” Steve said, glancing down. “I don’t know how to describe it other than an emotional flashback. You know how with a flashback, something will just hit you wrong, and suddenly you’re right back in it? It was just like that, only instead of the usual, it was like I was reliving the misery of those two weeks.” He sighed, looking down at the food in his hands. “It was such a good day, too.”

“Hey, the fact that you had a flashback doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good day,” Tony said. “It didn’t ruin anything, all right?”

Steve nodded. “Thanks.” He took another bite. “Jesus, this is good.”

“I know, right? I don’t know what Bucky has planned for dinner, but he and Peter were chopping wood, so I think open flame is involved.”

“He always did like being in charge of rations.” Steve shoved the last bit of bread into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He reached out and took Tony’s hand and seemed to be steeling himself. Tony bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t be tempted to say anything. “I think you and Sam might have a point about therapy.”

“Oh?” Tony said, as neutrally as possible. 

“Yeah.” Steve looked at him. “Can you set it up when we get home? Sam said he had people to recommend.”

“Yes,” Tony said firmly. “This is good, Steve. I promise you, it’ll be good.”

“I hope so,” Steve said, glancing away. “I can’t help but feel like I shouldn’t need it. Like I should just be able to deal with it, like I’ve dealt with everything else. But I’m willing to entertain the idea that there might be another way.”

“I’m glad,” Tony said quietly. “And I know I’ve said this before, but––I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, looking suddenly very young and uncertain. 

“Yes.” Tony cupped the side of Steve’s face with his hand and kissed him.

“How long do we have before dinner?” Steve murmured against Tony’s lips. 

“Long enough,” Tony said, and shoved him onto his back so he could crawl on top of him and straddle his hips. 

***

The absolute darkness of night this far away from the city reminded Steve of making camp with the Howling Commandos during the war. He was surprised to find that that memory was no longer as painful to the touch as it had been; sitting by the fire with Tony and Bucky and Peter, it gave him only a vague sense of nostalgia for a time that now seemed relatively simple, even if it had not felt that way at the time.

Bucky had roasted seemingly endless kebabs of meat and veggies over the open fire, and the four of them had eaten enough that even Steve felt slightly over full. The night was clear and there was a sea of stars overhead. They spread a blanket out on the ground and laid down to look up at the constellations. They were different than the ones Steve remembered, but Tony knew all of them. 

“I had no idea you were such an astronomy nerd,” Peter said, turning his head to look at him. 

Tony shrugged. “Not a lot of chances for stargazing in New York.” 

“Yeah, but we could do it up at the compound,” Peter pointed out. “We wouldn’t even have to go very far.” He turned his face back and gazed up at the sky. Steve saw his throat move as he swallowed hard. “Uncle Ben loved astronomy. He had all these books, and I used to page through them, over and over. Once or twice a summer, we’d drive outside the city and he’d show me the constellations for real. It was never this dark, though.”

Tony was looking at Peter, a soft expression on his face. “Let me know if you ever want to do that. I know it was your thing with Ben, but if you wanted to go stargazing, I’d be happy to take you.”

Peter gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Tony.”

The four of them fell quiet. The only sounds were the babbling of a distant stream, the faint background hum of insects, and some rustling noises Bucky was making. Steve glanced over and was completely unsurprised to see that he was rolling a joint. 

Steve had to laugh. “Did you bring that with you?” 

“Nope,” Bucky said. “This is from the garden. I mean, I didn’t pick it today, it has to dry, but that’s where it came from originally. Peter, you want some?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, detaching his head from Tony’s shoulder enough to sit up.

“Stark?”

“No, thanks.”

“You sure?” Peter asked. 

Tony gave him a fleeting smile. “Sober means _sober_ , kid. Nothing that isn’t medically prescribed, and I’m pretty careful about what the docs give me, too.”

“Oh,” Peter said, sounding to Steve’s ear a little sad. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I’ll do it,” Steve said. 

Bucky shot him an incredulous look. Peter and Tony both looked delighted. “Really?” Bucky said, eyebrows up by his hairline. 

“Sure. It’s not illegal, like you said, and I’m curious.”

“I’m not arguing, I’m just surprised,” Bucky replied. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it open. He lit the end of the joint and took a drag, then passed it to Peter. Peter coughed on his first attempt, but managed the second without choking. “That kind of burns,” he said, voice rough. 

“It’s not as smooth as the vaporizer,” Bucky agreed. “Steve? Just like an asthma cigarette.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m pretty sure my asthma cigarettes actually did have weed in them,” he said, and took a hit. The smoke was a familiar sensation, filling his lungs, even if it tasted completely different. The slight sensation of dizziness was familiar, too. 

Bucky took the joint back and it made its rounds again. Steve could feel it hitting him, not quite like Thor’s mead did. It was gentler, and it made him feel a little like he was floating. Or like his head wasn’t quite connected to his body. “Fuzzy” was how Peter had described it, and he got that now. Like everything was just slightly off-focus.

“I’m good,” Peter said when Bucky offered him the joint a third time. 

“Me too,” Steve said. 

Bucky took one more drag and then put the joint out. He added a log to the fire, which crackled, flames climbing higher. 

“Hey,” Steve heard Tony say. “You okay?”

He turned his head, but Tony was looking at Peter, who was sprawled out on the blanket, limbs everywhere. Peter usually tucked and curled, taking up as little space as possible. But he looked loose-limbed now, relaxed and content. “Yeah,” Peter said, a little dreamily. “I’m okay. Feels nice to just not worry about anything.”

“Were you worrying before?”

“No. Well, maybe a little, about, like, MIT. But way less than usual. And now I’m not worried at all.”

“Good,” Tony said, sounding satisfied. 

Steve rolled over on his side, so he was facing Tony. Tony looked at him, a little bemused. “You doing okay there, hotshot?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Steve said, even though his tongue felt like it was slightly too big for his mouth. And then, because he felt like he’d never really noticed it before, “Your eyes are really brown.”

“They are,” Tony agreed, smiling slightly.

“But they’ve also got flecks of green in them. And gold.”

“I think that’s from the fire, Steve.”

“No,” Steve said, and couldn’t help grinning at him. “I think that’s you.”

“Oh God, this is going to be nauseating,” Bucky groaned. “I’m putting a moratorium on any more discussion of Stark’s physical attributes.”

“I second that,” Peter said. “Seriously, you guys are gross. I mean, you’ve always been a little gross, but today you’ve been _extra_.”

“So you’ve said,” Tony replied with a smirk. “Just for that, I’m not going to play with your hair.”

“Noooo,” Peter whined, and immediately flopped down so his head was resting on Tony’s lap. “That’s the best part. Please?”

“All right, all right, Jesus, I’m such a sucker. You know, I used to have a reputation,” Tony said, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair. Steve inched closer, because it did look pretty nice. 

“Pfffff,” Steve said. 

“Did you just say ‘pfffff’?”

“Yes. Because you secretly always wanted this.”

“What’s ‘this’?” Tony asked. 

“Family. Domesticity. That was your deep, dark secret. You always wanted this.”

“Oh really?” Tony said, raising an eyebrow at him. “And how do you figure that?”

“You built a goddamn tower to put all your friends in,” Steve said. 

“Well, technically the tower already existed. I did remodel it at considerable personal expense,” Tony admitted. “But that was just––reasonable. I couldn’t leave you all in SHIELD accommodations, that would have been cruel.”

“Sure, Tony.” Steve patted him on the leg. He picked up Tony’s one free hand and put it in his own hair. “You just tell yourself that.”

“What are you saying?”

Steve closed his eyes. “I’m saying you tried awfully hard to be the billionaire playboy, but deep down, you wanted to be a dad and a partner, and you thought you weren’t capable of it because Howard was an abusive asshole.”

“ _Ouch_ ,” Tony said. “Jesus. Stoned Steve is brutal.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, looking up at him. “Obviously, you were wrong, because you’re an amazing partner. And you’ll be an amazing husband once we’re married. I can’t wait to be married to you.”

“And you’re a great dad, too,” Peter said, sounding sleepy already. “The best.”

“I want you both to know that I am doing my best to handle this level of emotional sincerity, but it makes me really uncomfortable,” Tony said, sounding slightly strangled. “I’m trying really hard not to say anything self-deprecating or sarcastic. It’s actually kind of painful.”

“I’m trying really hard not to barf,” Bucky muttered. Steve kicked at him. “Ouch.”

Peter sat up. “Do we have any more cheese and bread?”

“Oh, is the touching moment over now?” Tony asked. “Thank God.”

“It’s suspended for the moment because I’m hungry.”

“How can you possibly still be hungry? I think you ate most of a small cow earlier.”

“I think I would pretty much always be hungry if it wasn’t for the anxiety,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Ooh, thanks,” he added, when Bucky passed him the bread with some of the herbed goat cheese, both wrapped in wax paper. He sat up. “Want some, Steve?”

“Not yet, thanks,” Steve said, feeling far too comfortable with his head on Tony’s lap to even think about moving. 

“I’ll have some,” Bucky said. 

For a few minutes, there was just the sound of Peter and Bucky passing things back and forth and eating. Tony’s hand moved slowly through Steve’s hair, and Steve looked up at the stars. Maybe he should have felt more fear, looking up at them; he knew what came from them now, and it had rarely been anything good. But it made it easier to think about how small he was in comparison to everything else, how fleeting their lives were, and for some reason, instead of frightening him, he found it comforting. He had one life, with Tony and Peter and Bucky and Natasha and Sam and everyone else, and his only responsibility was to live it well. That seemed almost manageable. The exhaustion that he’d felt consuming him since he thought Tony had died seemed very far away.

He caught Tony’s hand on its next pass through his hair and kissed the inside of his wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony said. He sounded like he was laughing at him a little bit, on the inside, but Steve had a hard time caring. 

Steve lost track of time, which was novel, since he’d had an unerring internal clock ever since the serum. He had no idea whether it was two minutes or two hours later that Peter tucked himself into Steve’s side, sandwiching him between him and Tony. Tony had laid down by then, and Steve’s head was resting on his chest. “Where’s Buck?” Steve asked, blinking. 

“Went to make sure the goats were in their pen,” Peter said drowsily. “And then I think he was going to go to bed. I think Tony’s asleep.”

Tony didn’t respond to this, and Steve realized that the rise and fall of his chest beneath his ear was slow and even. His fingers were twitching a little, too, where they rested against Steve’s shoulder. “I think so, too.” He tightened his arm around Peter. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Peter said. “I feel good right now. I’ve felt good all day.”

“I’m glad.”

“Tony said you had a bad moment this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sort of like an emotional flashback.”

“Mmm, yeah, I get those sometimes. I’ll suddenly remember what it was like when Bruce gave me the news.” He sighed. “I know you have Tony, but when that happens, you can always call me. Even if I’m at MIT. You know that, right?”

Steve smiled. “I do. Same here.”

“I know.” Peter was silent for a moment or two, and then he said, “You know, I didn’t want to like you when you and Tony first got together.”

“I remember.”

“I didn’t trust you. And I didn’t understand how he did.”

“I didn’t blame you for that.”

“I know you didn’t. And you gave me time, you never pushed. You were already a great mentor before all of this happened. But now...” Peter paused. “We’re not like me and Tony. You’re not my dad.”

“No,” Steve agreed. It wasn’t like that with the two of them, even after everything. Steve didn’t think he’d ever flinch to send Peter into battle the way Tony did. Steve understood that that was just part of who Peter was. There was no point in resisting it. 

“But you are one of my best friends,” Peter continued. “You get me, probably better than Ned does at this point. And you never wish that I was anyone other than who I am.”

Steve’s breath caught. “Thank you, Peter,” he said quietly. “That means a lot. And I hope you know it goes both ways. I’m honored to be your mentor, but even more than that––I’m so glad to be your friend.” 

“Thanks,” Peter said. He was silent for a while––they both were––and then he sat up. “I think I’m going to go to bed. You need any help with the fire?”

“No, I’m okay,” Steve said. Peter hugged him, a little awkwardly, and then scrambled to his feet. 

Steve waited until he heard Peter go into the hut he was sharing with Bucky, and then he said, “So how much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” Tony mumbled sleepily. “God, I love my kid.”

“Me too,” Steve said with a fond smile. “You want to go in?”

“No,” Tony said. He rolled onto his side and slung an arm across Steve’s chest. “No, let’s stay out here just a little while longer.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, everyone. This has been swell.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be kind in the comments. Personal stories sometimes invoke personal reactions, so bear in mind that everyone's experiences are both different and valid. Thank you.


End file.
